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THE HYMN 



"Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By' 



ITS HISTORY 



AND OTHER VERSES 



BY 



EMMA F. R. CAMPBELL 

ii 



M. E. MUNSON, Publisher 

j j Bible House 

New York 






,-i . ; 



Copyright, 1909 
By M. E. MUNSON 



CI.A25K • 



DEDICATION 

To the Memory of 
MY MOTHER 

WHOSE LOVING ASPIRATION FOR HER CHILD 

WAS THE INSPIRATION OF ALL THAT IS WORTHY IN THESB 

LIFE THOUGHTS 



THE HISTORY OF THE HYMN 

"Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By" 



"He who voices the thought of the Christian 
heart in a hymn which becomes familiar in the 
songs of the church of Christ, is sure of being 
held in grateful memory." g g Times 

"I believe that I would rather be the author 
of one good hymn than of anything else in the 
world, unless it be sunshine.'' 1 -g g Phelps 

Very wonderful it seems to the author of the 
simple lines entitled "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth 
By," that such honor should have fallen so unex- 
pectedly upon her. Written merely as a metrical 
description of impressive scenes passing around 
her, it was farthest from her thought or inten- 
tion that they should ever be used as a hymn, 
and be sung with marked effect in just such 
gatherings as those that suggested them. "Verily 
it is the Lord's doing and is marvelous in our 
eyes." 

The history of the hymn has often been asked 
for and given incorrectly by compilers of hymns 
with their origin. It is briefly this: In the 
Spring of 1864 a remarkable religious awakening 



occurred in Newark, N. J. — the writer's birth- 
place and residence at that time — in connection 
with the services of the Rev. E. P. Hammond. 
All classes of the community felt its power, and 
the largest churches and halls of the city were 
crowded day and night by eager, earnest men and 
women, and children as well. 

Among those to whom such scenes were new, 
and who for the first time realized in her own 
experience the irresistible power of the Holy 
Spirit in revealing the fullness and freeness of 
salvation through Christ, was a young Sabbath 
School teacher whose heart was deeply moved by 
seeing one after another in whom she was inter- 
ested become subjects of the Spirit's influence. 

At one of the services the topic was the Gospel 
story of blind Bartimeus, who asking what the 
noise of the multitude following Jesus meant, was 
told, "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Some very 
impressive comments on the passage were made 
by Mr. Pardee, the well-known Sabbath School 
worker of that day, and others, and much deep 
feeling was manifested. Under the effect of this 
stirring application of the Scripture instance of 
Christ's compassion for and ready help to the 
needy ones thronging His earthly pathway, the 
verses beginning, "What means this eager, 
anxious throng," were suggested and written as 
descriptive of the similar scenes occurring in our 
streets, with the hope that such a presentation of 
the fact of Christ's presence in our midst, ready 
and able to save, might reach some souls un- 
reached by the meetings. They were sent to a 

vl 



local paper and to the Sunday School Times, 
and as soon as they saw the light were immedi- 
ately taken by Mr. Hammond and added to a col- 
lection of hymns he was about to publish called 
"New Praises of Jesus," set to the tune of 
"Sweet Hour of Prayer," and were so used by 
him in subsequent meetings. Very soon, however, 
a new tune was written for what had now be- 
come a popular hymn by the lamented Gospel 
singer and composer, P. P. Bliss, and published 
in his collection of "Gospel Songs." But this 
tune did not prove popular, and another was 
composed by T. E. Perkins, which is the one given 
in the Gospel Hymns and sung so effectively by 
Mr. Sankey in Evangelistic meetings all over the 
world. The verses were first published over the 
signature of "Eta," a nom-de-plume chosen by 
the writer from the Greek alphabet, which ac- 
counts for its appearance in the earlier hymn- 
books as by "Miss Eta Campbell." In later edi- 
tions of the Gospel Hymns the error has been cor- 
rected. 

In reviewing the record of this simple produc- 
tion of her pen the author of "Jesus of Nazareth 
Passeth By" is overwhelmed with grateful sur- 
prise that it should have been accorded by the 
Master such an honored place among the agen- 
cies at work for Him, and accepted by the Holy 
Spirit as a medium of His power in awakening 
souls and winning them to the one Saviour of 
the world. Unquestionably it was started on its 
mission by the impressive rendering of the soul- 
ful Christian singer, Ira D. Sankey, and that 

vii 



much of its usefulness is due to his appreciation 
of its possibilities, and his intensity of desire to 
make it effective in touching sin-burdened hearts 
and leading them to the waiting Healer. And 
who that has heard him sing this hymn or any 
other can ever forget the tender, earnest tones of 
that persuasive voice, or wonder that the words 
should retain to all future time the echo of the 
thrill thus imparted to them. 

Very many instances have been related of the 
wonderful effect of this hymn as sung by Mr. 
Sankey at the great revival services of the two 
greatest evangelists of the last century. I can 
only mention a few. One writer, the Rev. Dun- 
can Morrison of Canada, who has written sketches 
of some remarkable hymns, says he can never 
forget the scene he once beheld in Glasgow, Scot- 
land, when a congregation of three thousand souls 
were moved by the thrilling tones of that master 
of sacred song as he sang: 

"Too late! too late! will be the cry, 
Jesus of Nazareth has passed by!" 

"The latent wail that for the moment rose to 
the surface, — the revelation of possible despair at 
the gates of that strange other world to which 
we are hastening" — was irresistible. In a book 
by Rev. Dr. Boyd recounting the remarkable 
career of Moody and Sankey in Great Britain, 
many incidents are told of the use and effect of 
this hymn in the immense gatherings in the great 
cities. In Belfast, at an open-air meeting held 
for the mill workers, where it was estimated from 

viii 



ten to twenty thousand were gathered, Mr. 
Sankey sang "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By" in 
his tender, touching style. "While he was sing- 
ing I could observe in the glistening eye and the 
deep sighs of those around me that it was even 
so." In Dublin, after one of the crowded meet- 
ings, an old man of seventy threw himself on his 
knees sobbing as he said, "I was utterly careless 
about my soul till last night, but have been so 
unhappy since I could not sleep. I seemed to 
hear ringing in my ears ' Jesus of Nazareth 
Passeth By/ and if I don't get saved now, I 
never shall." In Manchester, Eng., a band of 
workers was organized to visit every house with 
a card bearing on one side this hymn, and on the 
other a short address by Mr. Moody on the text 
"Behold I stand at the door and knock." At 
one of the meetings in Philadelphia it is said 
by one who was present, "As Mr. Sankey was 
singing this hymn, his voice in the lines 'Ho! all 
ye heavy laden come,' and afterward 'Too late! 
too late ! will be the cry,' became so low, broken, 
full of pity, and clear withal that dozens of 
people half rose from their seats and bent for- 
ward toward the stage as if by magnetic attrac- 
tion." 

The key-note of its popularity thus given by 
Mr. Sankey, and the appropriation of it to His 
special use by the Holy Spirit, the use and effect 
of this hymn has not been confined to the large 
assembly or the magnetic tones of one consecrated 
voice. In smaller gatherings all over the world 
and even in the home circle it has proved its 

ix 



mission of soul awakening and hope inspiring 
power. One instance from many that have come 
to the knowledge of the writer is peculiarly 
touching to her. A condemned murderer heard 
it sung at the religious exercises held in the 
prison, and was strongly impressed and led to 
accept the hope of pardon through a merciful 
Saviour. During the last days of his life he fre- 
quently asked to have it sung; and the day be- 
fore his execution requested that it might be 
sung the following Sunday, saying, "Who knows 
that I may not hear it. If not, it may touch the 
heart of some other poor fellow as it has mine." 

But perhaps nothing in the record of this hymn 
has brought more real joy and gratitude to the 
heart of the author than the fact that it is sung 
by converted heathen in the far lands of India, 
Syria and other foreign mission fields. A mis- 
sionary friend in India wrote of having heard 
it sung by a congregation of five or six hundred 
natives in their own language — the Marathi — 
with thrilling effect. She very kindly had a copy 
of it transcribed for the writer from their hymn- 
book by a Hindoo pundit — a reproduction of 
which is appended to this sketch. 

Such is the surprising history of this simple 
production. It is but an illustration of God's 
wonderful way of using the humble, obscure 
forces of Christian life and thought to accom- 
plish His great designs — "the weak things of the 
world to confound the mighty." Written in an 
hour of spiritual fervor, unconscious of any 
special inspiration, with no attempt at poetic 



imagery, or a thought that it would live beyond 
the time and occasion that suggested it, the re- 
sult has proved that the impulse that moved the 
heart and the pen was divine ; and therefore the 
hymn, "Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By," belongs 
only to Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, to 
whom with the Father, who giveth gifts to the 
children of men, be all the glory. 



Xi 



"JESUS OF NAZARETH 
PASSETH BY" 

Luke xviii : 34. 
I 
What means this eager, anxious throng 
Pressing our busy streets along? 
These wondrous gatherings day by day, 
What means this strange commotion, pray? 
Voices in accents hushed reply 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

II 
E'en children feel the potent spell 
And haste their new-found joy to tell. 
In crowds they to the place repair 
Where Christians daily bow in prayer, 
Hosannas mingle with the cry 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

Ill 
Who is this Jesus? Why should He 
The city move so mightily? 
A passing stranger, has He skill 
To move the multitude at will? 
Again the stirring tones reply 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

IV 
Jesus! 'tis He who once below 
Man's pathway trod mid pain and woe; 
And burdened ones where'er He came 
Brought out their sick and deaf and lame. 
Blind men rejoiced to hear the cry 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

V 

Again He comes — from place to place 
His holy footprints we can trace; 
He pauses at our threshold, nay, 
He enters, condescends to stay! 
Shall we not gladly raise the cry 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 



xil 



VI 
Bring out your sick and blind and lame, 
'Tis to restore them Jesus came; 
Compassion infinite you'll find 
With boundless power in Him combined. 
Come quickly while salvation's nigh, 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

VII 

Ye sin-sick souls, who feel your need, 
He comes to you, a Friend indeed; 
Rise from your weary, wakeful couch, 
Haste to secure His healing touch; 
No longer sadly wait and sigh, 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

VIII " 

Ho! all ye heavy laden, come! 
Here's pardon, comfort, rest, a home; 
Ye wanderers from a Father's face, 
Return, accept His proffered grace. 
Ye tempted, there's a refuge nigh, 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

IX 

Ye who are buried in the grave 
Of sin, His power alone can save; 
His voice can bid your dead souls live, 
True spirit-life and freedom give. 
Awake! arise! for strength apply, 
"Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." 

X 

But if you still this call refuse, 
And dare such wondrous love abuse, 
Soon will He sadly from you turn, 
Your bitter prayer for mercy spurn. 
Too late! too late! will be the cry, 
"Jesus of Nazareth has passed by." 



xlil 



TRANSLATION IN MARATHI 



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LATIN TRANSLATION. 
By Rev. Duncan Morrison, M.A. 

Quid sit hsec appetens turma, 
Tarn circumfusa, anxia — 
lstae mirabiles turbse 
In dies viis et urbe? 
Suppressa voce plebs spondet: 
"Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
Quis este Jesus? Is quare 
Ferturbat urbem tarn mire? 
An advena possit imo 
Volente cire earn quando? 
Deinde vox rursum spondet: 
"Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
Jesus! qui semel habitans 
Nobiscum, morbos et ferens 
Sanavit segros populi, 
Feccatum abtulit mundi; 
Deinde vox caeci spondet: 
"Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
Is rursus venit! Et passim 
Descernimus vestigium; 
Stat ad limen; intrat immo 
Ut habitet nobis — templo! 
Hinc laetus populus spondet: 
"Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
O onerati et fessi, 
Hie domus, quies, lux cordi; 
Errantes omnes ab Patre, 
Infirmi omnes fugite 
Asylum; usque vox spondet: 
"Jesus Naz'renus nunc transit." 
Sin ista res inutilis 
Habetur, amor et talis; 
Abvertet cito; turn magni 
Plorates omnes irriti; 
Oh nimis serum, vox erit, 
"Jesus Naz'renus transiit." 

xvl 



OTHER VERSES 



INDEX 

PULSES OF INNER LIFE. 

PAGE 

"Not Unto Us" 3 

My Need 4 

The Still Small Voice 5 

Consecration 6 

Watching for Souls 7 

The Teacher's Saturday Night Prayer ... 8 

Prayer to the Spirit 9 

The Call to United Prayer for Sabbath Schools . 10 

My Will and Thine 11 

A Lesson 11 

Satisfied 13 

My Heaven 14 

Penitential 15 

O Thou of Little Faith 16 

A New Year Prayer 17 

Cast Down but not Destroyed .... 18 

Marah — Elim 19 

Aspiration 19 

ECHOES OF THE WORD. 

Christmas Hymn 23 

No Room for Jesus 23 

Come Unto Me 24 

Ye Will Not Come 25 

Wilt Thou Be Made Whole? 26 

The Bread of Life ....... 27 

Come Rest Awhile 28 

svii 



PAGB 

On a Picture of Christ Blessing Little Children . 29 

In the Storm 30 

We Have Toiled All Night 31 

The Night Cometh 32 

No Hope 33 

Him that Overcometh 34 

Prove Me 85 

Inasmuch 36 

And it Was Night 37 

The Prayer on Olivet 38 

Ecce Homo 40 

God's Christ 42 

Eloi! Eloi! Lama Sabachthani^ .... 43 

Our Easter Call 44 

No More Sea 46 

No More Death 47 

IN THE SHADOW. 

De Profundis * . .51 

The National Funeral 52 

Thanks and Supplication 53 

"O Woman! Great is Thy Faith!" ... 55 

"Why?" 56 

"Not Dead, but Risen" 57 

"Twilight Dell" — Greenwood 58 

Sudden Transition 60 

'Tis Just Across the River 61 

Under the Rod 63 

In Darkness 64 

Lulie's First Birthday in Heaven .... 65 

Suffer the Children 67 

"Is it Well?" 68 

xvill 



PAGE 

On the Brink of the River 69 

A Minor Strain 71 

The Vanished Hand 73 

A Year Ago 73 

Afterward 76 

A Tribute of Grateful Love 77 

To One Beloved 78 

TIMES AND SEASONS. 

The Reawakening 81 

Springtime 82 

Seed-time 82 

Autumn Contrasts 83 

The Death of the Leaves 84 

The First Frost. 85 

Thanksgiving Hymn in War Time .... 86 

Thanksgiving Hymn for Peace .... 87 

The Closing Year 88 

Farewell to the Year 90 

A New Year Reverie 90 

A New Year Thought 91 

"Happy New Year!" 92 

Birthday Verses 94 

On Taking Down the Christmas Greens . . 95 

Night 96 

True Worship 96 

OCCASIONAL. 

A Hymn of Praise — Centennial .... 101 

L'Envoi 103 

Mizpah 104 

Our Manse 105 

xlx 



After a Sabbath School Convention 






PAGB 

107 


Anniversary Hymn for an Orphan Asylum 




108 


Anniversary Hymn for a Sabbath School 




100 


Hymns for Children .... 




110 


Invitation .... 








110 


Praise and Consecration 








111 


Rejoicing in Jesus 








111 


Working for Jesus 








. 112 


"I'll Watch for You All." 








119 


The Invalid's Comfort 








114 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


Christmas in the Arctic Regions .... 119 


The Lost Child 








121 


To the Katydid 








122 


Fort Sumter .... 








123 


Eulogy on a Turkey . 








124 


To the Wild Carrot 








125 


"Don't Worry" .... 








126 


For a May Day Celebration 








127 


The Last Sigh of the Moob 








128 



XX 



PULSES OF INNER LIFE 



"NOT UNTO US." 

Suggested upon hearing that some simple lines of the 
writer's had been found, pinned in the Bible of a dear 
young Christian girl after her death. 

Not unto me, nor mine, 
Be praise for aught of good I may have done 
By hand or tongue throughout these earthly days; 
Mine be the grateful joy, Thine all the praise, 
Giver of every gift or grace! alone 

All glory shall be Thine! 

If any deed of mine 
Hath helped a brother on Life's weary way, 
Lightened, if but a jot, his heavy load, 
Removed one stone of stumbling from his road, 
Father, I thank Thee! Thine the power alway, 

The glory shall be Thine. 

If any word of mine 
Hath chanced to fall with helpful tenderness 
On throbbing heart, or led one thirsty soul 
To Elim's springs to drink and be made whole, 
I thank Thee for the blessing thus to bless; 

All glory shall be Thine. 

If any thought of mine, 
Wafted afar upon the white-winged page, 
Hath found unsought a silent ministry 
Of comfort or of loving sympathy, 
Some patient suff'rer's death-pangs to assuage, 

The glory shall be Thine. 

If any song of mine, 
Though but in faltering cadence sung, 
Hath caught the ear above Earth's dreary din, 
And cheered the wayside toiler, or hath been 
A saving charm around some wanderer flung, 

The glory, Lord, be Thine. 



If this poor life of mine 
Shall in the smallest measure help to make 
This world the better for its living, so 
That dying, I not unremembered go, 
Lord, through eternity my praises take, 

All glory ever Thine. 



MY NEED. 

Lord, I have need of patience, grant it me,' 
Patience to hear the ills I can't remove; 

These vexing cares, this oft infirmity, 

And tasks which for my strength too heavy prove. 

Lord, I have need of meekness, grant it me; 

I fain would do great things for God and man, 
And fret because I cannot. Let me be 

Content to do the little that I can. 

Lord, I have need of courage, grant it me, 
Bravely to fight though well nigh overcome. 

To falter not, though dark the way may be, 
And hedged with thorns each step that leads me home. 

Lord I have need of wisdom, grant it me, 
Wisdom to know and do Thy will aright; 

To choose Thy way, when doubtful I may be 
Which path will lead me out into the light. 

Lord, 1 have need of -faith, Oh grant it me! 

Faith to take hold of unseen things and rest 
Quiet amid the storm, though fierce it be, 

As trusting child upon its father's breast. 

Lord, 'tis Thyself I need, then shall I be 
Patient and meek and strong to do or bear; 

Then shall I know and trust, if Thou in me 
Abide, and I Thy faultless image wear. 



THE STILL SMALL VOICE. 

Not with the blinding light 
That struck the impious Saul in terror to the ground; 

Nor with the voice of might 
That called dead Lazarus forth, waked from his sleep 
profound; 

Not with the startling roll 
Of Sinai's thunders, with their mystery and awe, 

Crushing the conscious soul 
Beneath the dread revealings of an unkept law; 

But with a voice so small 
'Twas scarcely heard amid earth's busy toil and din, 

To me came Mercy's call — 
To me, a wandering sheep, lost in the wilds of sin — 

So gentle was its tone, 
I would not list nor heed. "Sure it is naught," I said, 

"Naught but my heart alone, 
Quickened with foolish fear it beats with louder tread." 

But yet it came and came — 
Through the still chamber of my soul its whisper mild 

Tenderly called my name 
And said "Why will you die? I died for you, my child." 

At length, aroused, I cried 
"Who art Thou, Lord? and why to me so wondrous 
kind?" 

Quickly the voice replied 
"I am the Shepherd who my straying lamb would find." 

O sweetest voice of love! 
Could stoutest heart of rock withstand Thy melting tone, 

Or coldly fail to move 
With penitence? "Dear Lord!" I cried, "behold Thine 
own." 

Now with an ear attent 
I list with joy the still small voice within my breast, 

Blest Guide and Teacher sent 
By Love, henceforth to be my dear, abiding guest. 



Speak to me ever, Lord, 
In accents low and sweet; let earth's turmoil be still. 

That every tender word 
Of Thine my spirit's inmost depths may quickly thrill. 



CONSECRATION. 
{After reading the Memorials of F. R. Havergal.) 

"All for Jesus!" Oh, to know 
Such unbounded zeal below! 
Consecration so complete, 
Self laid down at Jesus' feet! 

All for Jesus! not a part, 
Soul and body, brain and heart; 
Day by day my all to bring 
To the service of my King. 

All my powers in sweet accord 
With my Master's will and word; 
Not a thought or wish my own, 
My whole being His alone. 

His to govern, His to guide, 

His to use or cast aside; 

His own messenger to be 

Of His grace so rich and free — 

Or, His purpose to fulfill— 

His to suffer and be still. 

Oh, can I this height attain 
Over earth and self to reign? 
Lifted on the wings of love, 
Serve as do the saints above? 

Lord, the secret power impart, 
Kindle in this languid heart 
This faint spark of warm desire 
To a flame of holy fire. 



Grant me, Saviour, thus to know 
All Thy will as mine below; 
Take me, hold me, let me he 
Wholly consecrate to Thee. 

Here with Jesus sanctified, 
There with Jesus glorified; 
All to Jesus to belong, 
"All for Jesus!" be my song! 



WATCHING FOR SOULS. 

To watch for souls! this is the Christian's task, 

His life-work here below; 
With earnest faith and an untiring zeal 

His Master's love to show. 



As the lone sentinel his vigil keeps 

In watch-tower by the sea, 
To save the lost and guide the storm-tossed home, 

So must the Christian be. 

Or as the husbandman with patient care 

Scatters the early grain, 
And watches till the springing blade and ear 

Rewards his toil again. 

Thus let me watch and wait while life shall last 

Let me not weary be; 
But ever sow the seed though in this world 

No harvest comes to me. 

Since when the final reaping-day shall come, 

I may astonished find 
Some little sheaf among the wheat, perchance, 

I may have helped to bind. 



THE TEACHER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 
PRAYER. 

Weary of worldly thought, 

Of Earth's perplexing care, 
My longing soul this night would find 

Refreshment, Lord, in prayer. 

Help me to lay aside 

The business of the week, 
And with new consecration now 

Thy blessing humbly seek. 

Oh purify my heart 

From every sinful trace; 
And grant me in Thy love, dear Lord, 

A Sabbath robe of grace. 

Prepare me for my work, 

That with to-morrow's light 
I may go forth with earnest zeal 

To labor in Thy might. 

Oh make me wise to win 

Some precious soul to Thee; 
Teach me, that I Thy word may teach 

As for Eternity. 

Too oft my spirit, Lord, 

Is tempted to despair 
So little fruit from scattered seed 

Rewards my toil and care. 

And yet I surely know 

Thy Truth can never fail. 
Though buried long 'twill rise at last 

And mightily prevail. 

Inspire my heart with faith 

And strength to labor on 
Through doubt and weariness until 

The victory is won. 

8 



PRAYER TO THE SPIRIT. 

How long, O Lord, must still delay 
The coming of the harvest day? 
In weariness we wait and pray, 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

With hope deferred our hearts are worn, 
Faith falters watching for the morn; 
Sin triumphs while we sit forlorn, 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

These human efforts, ah how vain! 
How hopeless all our care and pain 
Without Thy gracious, quickening rain, 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

For Paul may plant with wisest care, 
Apollos all his labors share, — 
Tis naught unless Thy power is there; 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

In various soil we sow the seed, 
With earnest faith and patient deed; 
Yet waiting seems our only meed. 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

We wrestle with a stronger will, 
Work as we may, 'tis ready still 
To crush the good with might of ill; 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

The work is Thine to change the heart 
And to dead souls new life impart; 
To bid the demon Sin depart; 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

Come bring at last the promised hour 
When buried Truth shall bud and flower ;- 
Seed sown in weakness, raised in power — 
O Holy Spirit, come! 

9 



THE CALL TO UNITED PRAYER FOR 
SABBATH SCHOOLS. 

October 20, 21, 1872. 

From o'er the sea came the Muezzin call, — 
A loud appeal to Christ's disciples all — 
"To prayer! To prayer! let every heart and tongue — 
To supplicate God's blessing on the young — 
Join us in prayer." 

From lip to lip passed on the earnest word, 
And heart to heart in quick response was stirred; 
With hand in hand Christians of various creed, — 
Ever a brotherhood in such a deed — 
Gathered for prayer. 

Far in the North amid the early snow, 
In the far South where tropic breezes blow, 
Here where the russet leaf of Autumn shows, 
From shore to shore, like clouds of incense, rose 
United prayer. 

The weary teacher faltering in his task 
Looks up with hope as fellow-toilers ask 
God's blessing on his work; and with new zest 
Resolves with faith to labor on — refreshed, 
Strengthened by prayer. 

The careless scholar, far from God astray, 
Pauses to hear two lands unite to pray 
For such as he; and roused to a new sense 
Of guilt and danger, bows in earnest penitence 
To join the prayer. 

Dear Lord! let not Thy people pray in vain, 
Oh send us speedily a gracious rain; 
Water the seed long sown, let it now spring 
To life, a glorious fruitage bring, 
Answer our prayer. 

10 



MY WILL AND THINE. 

Lord, I'd gladly do for Thee, — 
Work with earnest heart and will, 

Foremost in the ranks of those 
Who Thine earthly vineyard till. 

I would spend my utmost strength 
Doing daily tasks for Thee; 

Counting weariness and loss 
Joy, so I Thy glory see. 

But my will to do is crossed 

Often by a stronger will; 
Mid my toil, a voice divine 

Bids me suffer and be still. 

As a captive bird 1 pant, 
Fret and flutter to be free; 

Mourn, as round me undone tasks 
Wait my doing hopelessly. 

On my strength a hand is laid, — 
Sinking helpless in the dust, 

'Neath a weight of weakness bowed,— 
I can only wait and trust. 

Is my work so little worth? 

Hast Thou, Lord, of me no need? 
Can Thy vineyard all be tilled 

With no help of mine, indeed? 

Lord, then give me grace to lie 
Passive as a child at rest; 

If by suffering patiently 
I can glorify Thee best. 

A LESSON. 

I learned an earnest truth to-day 
As through the city street 

I hastened with a troubled heart 
And quick impatient feet. 



11 



A little child, blindfolded, crossed 

The crowded, slippery mart, 
Where prancing steeds and rattling wheels 

Might shake the stoutest heart. 

But in that happy, careless face 

There was no sign of fear, 
For though she could not see his smile 

She felt her father near. 

His arm of love enfolded her, 

She knew the pressure mild; 
And knew he'd shield from every harm 

His little helpless child. 

And so with sweet confiding faith 

She lightly tripped along 
The dark and treach'rous road, without 

A fear of going wrong. 

And all the while the father bent 

Upon his sightless child 
A pitying smile, and the rough way 

With tender words beguiled. 

Ah! me! 1 thought, and is it thus 

My Father leadeth me 
Along the tangled maze of life 

Where not a step I see? 

And does His strong and loving arm 

As tenderly enfold 
His weary child who faints amid 

The darkness and the cold? 

O thou of little faith; why then 

Thus falter and complain 
Because thou canst not see the way 

Which is to Him so plain? 

12 



Why thus so sadly count thy woes 

And think thyself alone; 
When thy sure Comforter and Guide 

Is the Almighty One? 

Dear Father, help me to believe 

And feel Thee ever near. 
Oh draw me closer to Thy side 

That I Thy voice may hear. 

And let me calmly lean on Thee 
When cares and crosses come; 

Knowing Thine own most loving hand 
Will safely lead me home. 



SATISFIED. 

O questioning soul! be still; 
Calm these vain longings for unbounded lore 
Which thy weak powers so weary and perplex; 
Rest thee and wait until 
The promised morning dawns when thou no more, 
Linked to this heavy clay, thy faith shall vex 
With mysteries untried — 
Thou Shalt be satisfied. 

unsolved doubts! O things 
Hard to be understood by mortal mind! 

How will your phantoms vanish in the light 

Infinite morning brings! 
The problem of my life, so strangely blind 
To human reason — dark to mortal sight, 

Then well descried, 

1 shall be satisfied. 

Be patient then, my soul! 
Search meekly after truth, and be content 
With such a measure as God gives His own; 
Till at thy destined goal, 

13 



The mystic veil before thy vision rent, 
Thou shalt know all, e'en as thyself is known, 
And like thy God abide 
Forever satisfied! 



MY HEAVEN. 

Rev. vii. : 15. 

'Tis not of rest from toil, however sweet 

That rest will be 

To one who wearily 
Has trod life's paths, with aching head and feet. 

'Tis not of careless ease, — the surgeless sea 

Of unmixed bliss — 

In whose calm blessedness 
My soul can bathe to all eternity; 

Nor yet in rapture lost to sit and sing 

The glad new song, 

Mid the angelic throng, 
White robed, with golden harp and seraph wing; 

Nor yet to wave the palm or wear the crown 

Of victory complete; 

E'en though at Jesus' feet 
Twould be sweet joy to cast my trophies down. 

A higher heaven I crave, dear Lord, grant me 

Thyself to know, 

And perfectly to do 
Thy bidding in some blessed ministry. 

Here 'tis such joy to serve Thee, but these powers, 

Enshrined in clay, 

Soon weary and give way 
'Neath the stern needs of this sad world of ours. 

Oh to be tireless! heart and brain and nerve 

Forever free 

From earth's infirmity, 
By day and night my gracious God to serve! 

14 



To know as I am known! Earth's questioning o'er, 

With ease to clasp 

Truths I here fail to grasp, 
And God's infinity of love explore! 

This is my thought of Heaven; eternally 

In strength to grow, 

To love, to do, to know, 
To live with Christ in sweet activity. 



PENITENTIAL. 

Oh Thou that hearest prayer! 

Listen to me; 
My burdened heart its care 

Would cast on Thee. 

Thy promise stands secure, 
That Thou wilt hear 

Him who in spirit poor 
Offers his prayer. 

Saviour! I know my heart 

Is full of sin; 
But Thou canst grace impart 

To make it clean. 

No merit of my own 

To Thee I bring; 
To Thy dear cross alone, 

Trembling I cling. 

Thine all-atoning blood 

Was shed for me; 
Oh, precious Lamb of God! 

I trust in Thee. 

Low at Thy feet I wait, 

Guilty and weak; 
Now let Thy mercy great 

My pardon speak. 



15 



Then shall my future days 
To Thee be given; 

To Thee eternal praise 
On earth, in Heaven. 



O THOU OF LITTLE FAITH! 

Ever some great ill expecting, 

Trustless one! 
Present good too oft neglecting, 

Work undone. 

Every passing cloud beholding. 

Sure 'tis night! 
E'en though morn is just unfolding 

Beams of light. 

At each disappointment grumbling 

Day by day. 
Every mote a rock of stumbling 

In thy way. 

Thankless heart! cease such repining, 

Trust and wait; 
Know God's love is on thee shining 

In every strait. 

In thine own dark shadow hiding, 

Thou canst not see 
God's bright promise-bow abiding 

Over thee. 

He who for the sparrow careth 

Not in vain, 
Sure His burdened children spareth 

Needless pain. 

Take to-day or joy or sorrow 

At His word. 
Leave the burden of to-morrow 

With thy Lord. 



16 



A NEW YEAR PRAYER. 

Before the new year's portal 

With waiting feet I stand 
And seek, dear Lord, a blessing, 

The guidance of Thy hand. 
The path is all untrodden, 

No human footfall yet 
Has left a trace to follow, 

And save our vain regret. 

The way seems dark before me, 

With no clear guiding light; 
All unrevealed its dangers 

To my dim mortal sight. 
Father, I dare not venture 

One single step alone, 
Lest I in blindness stumble 

Against some hidden stone. 

Known to Thy higher wisdom 

Is all my future way; 
Its roughnesses and windings, 

Its snares to lead astray. 
Unguided 1 shall wander, 

Lord, let me take Thy hand, 
And hold Thou up my goings, 

That I secure may stand. 

I know not what awaits me 

Along the coming year, 
What cup of joy untasted, 

What weariness or fear; 
Beneath what weight of sorrow 

I may be called to bow, 
How near the dreary shadow 

Falls on my pathway now. 

But this I know, undoubting, 
That not too great or strong, 

Will be the cross Thou'lt give me, 
The darkness not too long; 

17 



For loving like a father 

Thou chastenest but to bless; 

And with each needed trial 
Will give sustaining grace. 

Lord, quiet these forbodings, 

These human doubts remove; 
Give me childlike assurance, 

A calm, unwavering love. 
Let me go forward bravely, 

With willing, trusting feet, 
Through Thine own strength to conquer 

Each enemy I meet. 



'CAST DOWN, BUT NOT DESTROYED." 

Why art thou thus cast down, my soul, 

Why so disquieted? 
Hope thou in God, thou yet shall praise 
The hand that through these devious ways 

Thy stumbling feet have led. 

What though fresh trouble like a cloud 

Thy sky hath overcast? 
Though disappointments mar thy lot, 
Thy Father's love which changes not 

Will make all bright at last. 

This life is but a trial hour, 

A pilgrimage at best; 
It may be that the heaviest load, 
The darkest sky, the roughest road, 

End in the surest rest. 

And when from Beulah's hills reviewed, 

Thou thankfully shall see 
How brighter paths but lured astray, 
While this same crooked, thorny way 

Led straight to victory. 

18 



Oh to be patient in the fire! 

God's hottest furnace blast! 
Calmly to smile mid sternest ill, 
And meekly bend to His sweet will, 

Assured of joy at last. 



MARAH— ELIM. 

I know, dear Lord, Thou dost not overtask 
The soul that in its weakness leans on Thee; 

If near to falling it need only ask, 
And underneath, the Everlasting arms shall be. 

My burden was so heavy, 'neath its weight 
My human strength gave way in mute despair. 

I reached for help — a Hand clasped mine, and straight 
My load was gone. He carried all my care. 

My gracious Lord! How can I ever doubt 

Again Thy present sympathy and love? 
Let deepest darkness compass me about, 

No shadow shall my confidence remove. 

Thy ready touch can change the night to day, 

The Marah bitterness to Elim sweet; 
Here will I calmly rest, and trusting lay 

My heaviest burden at Thy willing feet. 



ASPIRATION. 

Father of spirits! Thou who deignst to hear 
The wild-notes of the forest throng, 

Who mid the shadowy stillness strangely clear 
Uplift their song. 

Listen to one whose heart as strangely thrills 

With melody alike divine; 
Whose soul, unbounded by Earth's narrow hills, 

Would reach to Thine. 



19 



Whose yearning spirit pants with wild unrest 

Amid life's daily, toilsome round, 
Unsatisfied to grovel thus unblest 

On mortal ground. 

Thoughts of the far-off, infinite, unknown, 

Crowd dimly on my busy brain, 
Waking within a deep mysterious tone, 

A voiceless strain. 

Almighty Power! grant me the strength and skill 

To strike aright the chord divine, 
And utterance give the harmonies that thrill 

This soul of mine. 

Inspire my thought, while I essay to train 

My unfledged fancy's timid flight 
To lofty heights — nor let me soar in vain 

Mid visions bright. 

Give me the power a blessing to impart 

To many a weary child of Earth. 
To lift the fallen, soothe the aching heart, 

Give Hope new birth. 

Help me to grasp great truths, and hidden forms 

Of life and beauty to reveal — 
God's bow of promise spanning earth's dark storms 

Sin's clouds conceal. 

Then shall this earth-life be a hymn of praise, 

With grateful love in every line; 
Then mine the toil, the daily soul-full lays, 

The glory Thine. 



20 



ECHOES OF THE WORD 



CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

All hail! Holy day! we welcome again 

With grateful rejoicing the morn 
Which brought the glad news to the Judean plain 

Of JESUS— Immanuel— born! 

O wonder of wonders! O Love condescending! 

A God in a frail helpless child! 
The Infinite One with humanity blending, 

Jehovah with man reconciled. 

Ah! well might the angels announce the strange story, 

And herald this wonderful birth 
Which brought hope to man, to the Father new glory, 

Good will, peace and joy to the earth. 

And still through the ages the glad song is ringing — 

The song by the angels begun — 
Earth echoes to heaven in harmony singing 

Praise! praise to God's incarnate Son! 

As shepherds and sages amazed bow before Him 

And costliest offerings bring, 
With faith long-expectant the Christ-child adoring, 

Own Him their Messiah and King, 

So bring we our offerings of grateful laudation, 

More loving, if poor and less wise; 
We worship our King with the heart's adoration. 

A gift He will never despise. 

Bring evergreen branches, let garlands of holly 

Our altars and hearthstones entwine. 
Fit emblem of joy, never-dying and holy, 

Of love ever-lasting divine! 

NO ROOM FOR JESUS. 

O plodding life! crowded so full 

Of earthly toil and care, 
The body's daily need receives 
The first and last concern, and leaves 

No room for Jesus there, 

33 



O busy brain! by night and day 

Working with patience rare, 
Problems of worldly loss or gain, 
Thinking, till thought becomes a pain — 

No room for Jesus there. 

O throbbing heart! so quick to feel 

In human woes a share! 
Yet earthly loves thy pulses thrall, 
And sordid treasures claim thee all — 

No room for Jesus there. 

O selfish soul! thus to debase 

The being God doth spare; 
Blood-bought, thou art no more thine own, 
Heart, brain, life, all are His alone — 

Make room for Jesus there. 

Lest soon the bitter day will come 

When vain will be thy prayer 
To find in Jesus' heart a place — 
Forever closed the door of grace — 

No room for triflers there. 



"COME UNTO ME." 

Matt, xi : 28. 

"All we like sheep have gone astray," far from the 

sheltering fold 
We wander wearily and lone mid darkness, want and 

cold. 
But list! our tender Shepherd's voice falls on the ear 

distressed, 
"Come unto Me, ye weary ones, and I will give you 

rest." 

Ho! all ye fainting, stricken ones, mid sorrow's mazes 

lost, 
Ho! every toiling, tempted one, on sin's wild billow 

tossed; 

24 



List, ye who falter by the way with guilt and fear 

oppressed, 
"Come unto Me," the Saviour says, "and I will give you 

rest." 

Oh sweetly sounds this gracious call as mid life's cares 

we roam, 
Oft heavy-laden, spirit worn, with no abiding home; 
Kind Shepherd, gladly we accept, turning from earth 

unblest, 
We come to Thee in weariness and seek Thy proffered 

rest. 

Oh lead us to the shadowing rock where heavenly 

breezes blow, 
And to the living pastures green where the still waters 

flow; 
We know Thy voice, we'll follow Thee, assured Thy way 

is best, 
For Thou hast said, "Come unto Me and 1 will give 

thee rest." 

Soon shall these pilgrim days be o'er, this weary earth 

toil past, 
Then, Jesus, Shepherd, oh receive our trembling souls 

at last; 
And let us hear Thy welcome voice mid harpings of the 

blest, 
Still sweetly saying, "Come to Me and find eternal rest." 



"YE WILL NOT COME." 

"Ye will not come to Me that ye might have life." — 
John v : 40. 

O weary soul! long bowed beneath the load 
Of conscious sin, and longing to be free; 

Yet turning coldly from the only road 

To Him who calls so gently, "Come to Me." 

25 



Poor, feeding on the husks or earthly care, 
A wandering prodigal, afar from home, 

Why will you starve, when there is bread to spare, 
Waiting for you, if you will only come? 

Blind, groping in the dark of doubt and fear 

For some brave arm to be your strength and guide, 

While One, the mightiest, stands so very near, 
With outstretched hands to draw you to His side, 

Condemned, yea, dead in trespasses and sin; 

Pierced, bleeding with the darts of Satan's strife; 
Yet wilfully refusing help from Him, ' 

Who can alone defend and give you life. 

O wondrous love! O patience most divine! 

That spares from wrath, so long, the scorning one; 
O wretched soul! self-doomed, the fault is thine; 

For they alone are lost, who will not come. 



"WILT THOU BE MADE WHOLE?" 

John v: 1-9. 

"Wilt thou be made whole?" 

Oh tender the tone 
That falls on the ear 

Of the impotent one. 
But so long has he waited, 

So vainly for years, 
It seems only mocking 

His weakness and fears. 

"Wilt thou be made whole?" 

"Oh yes," the reply; 
"But no one will help me, 

They all pass me by." 
One glance at the life 

In those pitying eyes, 
He listens, believes, 

As Christ bids him "Arise!" 

26 



No waiting to question, 

No staying for power, 
He trusts and obeys 

And is healed the same hour. 
From his burden of sin 

And infirmity freed, 
He follows his Saviour, 

A new man indeed. 

"Wilt thou be made whole?" 

The same voice to-day 
Is tenderly asking, 

Who, who will say "Nay." 
So weary of waiting, 

So longing for rest, 
The Healer beside thee 

Says, "Rise and be blest." 

"Wilt thou be made whole?" 

He asketh thee still, 
With Him is the power, 

Thine only to will. 
Delay not to question, 

Believe and obey, 
And go forth in Christ Jesus 

A new creature to-day. 



THE BREAD OF LIFE. 

"Jesus said unto them, I am the bread of life ; he that cometh 
to Me shall never hunger." — John vi : 35. 

Sweet food! from Christ the living Head, 

Our soul-life to restore; 

That we may die no more. 
"Lord, evermore give us this bread." 

"Shall never hunger," Jesus said; 

Our famished souls would eat 

The true eternal meat; 
"Lord, evermore give us this bread." 

27 



On earthly husks we long have fed, 
Unsatisfied, in want, 
Our fainting spirits pant 

For heavenly, everlasting bread. 

Our souls in sin and care are dead; 
Dear Lord, in love impart 
This Christ-life to our heart, 

And evermore give us this bread. 



"COME REST AWHILE." 

Mark vi : 31. 

"Come rest awhile," how sweet the thought- 
The Mastef knows our weariness, 

Since He His own disciples brought 
Out from the city's din and press, 

To desert place, some quiet nest, 

Where He and they awhile might rest. 

Day after day the patient feet, 
The ready hand, and glowing tongue 

Had ministered by lane and street 
To eager crowds, and o'er them flung 

"The banner of His love" so blest; 

But now humanity must rest. 

"Apart" from man and all his need, 
Close to the Father's heart of love; 

Hungry and thirsty there to feed 
On hidden manna from above. 

In soul communion find fresh life 

And gain new courage for the strife. 

"So tired," dear Lord, with lesser task 
Indeed, yet weary oft and faint 

With daily toil, our spirits ask 

Repose, and to Thy sweet constraint 

Yield hand and brain, so long oppressed, 

And gladly take the proffered rest. 

3tf 



"Come ye yourselves,'" to all, He saith, 
Ye who like Him give strength and nerve 

In battle with earth's sin and death, 
God and your fellow man to serve; 

Now let this tender call beguile, 

And with your Master rest awhile. 

"Apart" from man, but not from Thee, 
Our Strength and Life with us abide 

Where'er we go by restless sea, 
Or by the shadowy mountain side; 

Without Thee, vain would be our quest, 

In Thee alone we find our rest. 



ON A PICTURE OF CHRIST BLESSING 

LITTLE CHILDREN. 

Faultless beauty, heavenly grace, 
Beam from our Redeemer's face; 
Matchless sweetness, love divine, 
Sorrow shading every line. 

Strange, unfathomed mystery! 
Love incarnate here we see; 
God-like pity, human woe, 
Blending Heaven with earth below. 

Yearning mothers round Him press, 
Fraying "Lord, our children bless"; 
Cold disciples sternly say, 
"Take the little ones away." 

Jesus then speaks tenderly, 
"Suffer them to come to Me"; 
We can almost hear His tone, 
"Such as these I fondly own." 

Now they gladly seek His care, 
Tiny hands are clasped in prayer; 
One, sweet childish Faith, behold 
Christ with His own robe enfold. 

29 



Saviour, may this tender scene 
Rend the veil of doubt between 
Thee and us. that, trusting, we 
May our children bring to Thee. 

If Thy pictured loveliness 
With such power our hearts impress, 
Hope to rapture shall give place 
When we see Thee face to face. 



IN THE STORM. 

Mitt, xiv: :-. 25 

Toiling in the midnight storm, 
Tossed on sorrow's surging sea, 

Weary, terrified, forlorn. 
Jesus. Saviour, come to me. 

Drifting on the soundless deep. 

Wave on wave rolls over me. 
Shadows coldly round me creep; 

Jesus. Saviour, come to me. 

Clustering griefs becloud my way, 
Earthly joys and comforts flee; 

Oh. to be my light, my stay. 
Jesus. Saviour, come to me. 

Surely. Master. Thou dost care 

Lest I perish helples- 
Surely Thou wilt hear my prayer, 

Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 

Come and take the vacant helm. 

Guide me o'er life's troubled sea; 
Ere the tide my soul o'erwhelm. 

Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 

.1.11 feel Thee strong to save. 
When Thy spirit-form I see 
Walking on the yielding wave. 
Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 



Let me hear Thy cheering voice, 
E'en though it in chiding be; 

Bid my fearful heart rejoice, 
Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 

Thou canst make the tempest cease; 

At Thy word the shadows flee; 
Thou alone canst give me peace; 

Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 

E'en upon the billow's crest 
Sweetly tranquil 1 can be 

If near Thy dear heart I rest, 
Jesus, Saviour, come to me. 



"WE HAVE TOILED ALL XIGHT AND 
HAVE TAKEN NOTHING." 

Luke v : 5. 

Master, all night by dangers thick beset 

We've toiled in vain; 

Yet once again 
At Thy command, we will let down the net. 

Lo, what a draught rewards their feeble faith! 

Their nets are filled, 

All doubting stilled, 
When they obey the word the Master saith. 

Weary disciple! fainting with the pain 

Of fruitless toil 

In barren soil, 
To thee the Master saith. •'Launch out again," 

Yield not to weariness nor weakly say 

Hopeless the task, 

Nor idly ask 
Ignoble rest, but trustfully obey. 

31 



Where deepest seems the sea of doubt and fear, 

Darkest the night 

Of sin's sad blight, 
There cast thy net believing, Christ is near. 

Dread not the danger nor the darkness heed, 

Bravely toil on 

Till rest is won, 
And God's own might will crown the faithful deed. 

All night? Ah! toiler, but the morn is near; 

Lo, the Day-star 

Beaming afar 
With hope and joy thy fainting soul to cheer. 

A little longer toil, perchance success, 

Abundant, sure, 

Long to endure, 
On thy next earnest effort waits to bless. 

Master! with Thee the sternest toil is rest, 

And truly bright 

The darkest night 
By Thine inspiring Presence sweetly blest. 

Only give us to know Thy will, dear Lord, 

And gladly we 

Will work for Thee 
By night or day, Thy love our sole reward. 

"THE NIGHT COMETH." 

John ix : 4. 

The patient sun has run his daily race, 

And lingers with a fitful flush of light; 
While o'er the purple hills with stately pace 
Cometh the night. 

Darkly the shadows fall on busy hand 

And toiling brain — to ease the straining sight. 
No man can longer work, for o'er the land 
Cometh the night. 

82 



I lay my task aside with vain regret 

That more and better is not done — day's flight 
Is all too rapid, too soon sun's set, 
Too fast comes night. 

I fold my hands and think will thus at last 

Death's darkness come and blind my mortal sight 
Ere half my work is done — life's day be past, 
And come the night? 

Ah, rouse thee, sluggish soul, the moment's glide; 

While thou art dreaming swiftly speeds the light. 
No man can work when with resistless tide 
Cometh the night. 

Work, Christian, work while it is called to-day; 

While strength and hope are thine, the heavens bright. 
Stay not thy hand lest while you yet delay 
Cometh the night. 

An earnest task is thine — to save the lost, 
To win the erring to the path of right. 
The shadows lengthen, see, thy way acros't 
Cometh the night. 

The night! to faithful toiler, welcome rest! 

To careless souls, regretful toil, Faith's fight 
Well fought, ah, peacefully and blest 
Cometh the night. 



NO HOPE. 
"Without God, and without hope in the world." — Eph. ii : 12. 

Behold in yon chamber, so shadowed and still, 

Where faces and tones give an ominous thrill, 

A sufferer lies tossing, with fluttering breath, 

In his young hopeful manhood contending with death. 

Afar from his home he had sought for a time 
To baffle disease in a sunnier clime; 
But ah! the vain hope from his bosom is gone, 
The Dark Angel meets him, he wrestles alone. 

33 



The stranger friends near wipe the dew from his brow, 
And ask for his mother's sake, "Must he die now?" 
"Oh, is there no hope?" In a sad undertone 
The answer is heard, "No hope for him, none." 

Look out on the ocean where helpless, forlorn, 
A fthip and its crew toils mid darkness and storm; 
Dismantled it drifts — hark! a crashing, a shock! 
"No hope!" is the cry, 'tis a wreck on the rock! 

"No hope" — 'tis the clank of the prisoner's chain! 
The knell of the doomed on the scaffold of pain! 
The cry of despair as sinking, alone, 
The drowning man ceases to struggle, is gone. 

Oh words of all others most sad to be said! 
Oh sound most heart-crushing, most dismal and dread! 
Give the soul but a glimmer, a promising ray, 
And nobly 'twill battle 'gainst death and decay. 

But ah! there is many a one o'er whose head 
This sentence hangs darkly, with meaning more dread, 
Who dares, though the banner of love is unfurled, 
To live "without God — without hope in the world." 

Oh blind ones awake! ere too late to be healed; 

Oh dead ones come forth! lest your sad doom be sealed; 

While yet there is time to the Saviour repair, 

And find hope and pardon awaiting you there. 



"HIM THAT OYERCOMETH." 

Rev. II and III chapters. 

Do thorns beset thy path, does darkness cloud thy way, 
And sore temptation fill thy spirit with dismay? 
Oh fainting child of earth! list the sweet promise given, 
For "Him that overcometh" waits a glorious rest in 
Heaven! 

34 



Is thy light cross a burden? Did not thy Saviour wear 
For thee a crown of thorns, a heavier burden bear? 
Canst thou not meekly walk where His dear feet have 

trod, 
Since "Him that overcometh" shares the Paradise of 

God? 

Is life a weariness, and earth a desert waste? 
Does e'en the cup of Joy prove bitter to thy taste? 
Is thy soul faint with longing for true, eternal meat? 
List! "Him that overcometh" shall the hidden manna 
eat. 

"I'll give him a new name engraved on a white stone; 
Power to rule the nations, a place upon My throne; 
Beside the crystal river, amid celestial light, 
The soul that overcometh sin shall walk with Me In 
white." 

Thus the Redeemer speaks, and o'er the darkling tide 
Sweet angel echoes come from dear ones glorified. 
Yea, "Him that overcometh," this stern life-battle o'er, 
In the temple of my God shall stand a pillar evermore. 

Be watchful then and nerve thy spirit for the fight, 
To bravely do or bear as God shall give thee might; 
The conflict soon will cease, and the reward is sure 
To them that overcome this world and to the end endure. 



"PROVE ME." 
Malachi iii : 10. 

"Bring the tithes into the storehouse, 
Let there be a bounteous store; 

Then I'll pour you out a blessing 
Till ye have no room for more. 

Prove Me now, ye doubting children, 
Let your faith attest My word; 

Fill your measure of the contract, 
Leave the balance to your Lord. 

35 



Stand no longer idly waiting; 

Prayer unproved hath little power; 
Vain your longing, without effort 

To advance the promised hour. 

Bring your offerings to the altar, 
Tithes of money, work and prayef; 

Yea, with earnest consecration 
Give yourselves to service there. 

Then will I, the Lord Jehovah, 
Surely make My promise good; 

Open wide the Heavenly windows, 
Pour you out a gracious flood." 

Lord, how can we ever doubt Thee 
With such wondrous promises? 

Help us now by faith and service 
Prove Thy readiness to bless. 



"INASMUCH." 

Matt, xxv : 40. 

Oh joy! if I at last may stand 

Before the King 
With those at His right hand, 

And my poor trophies bring 
With trembling hope! Oh, then to hear 
The blessed "Inasmuch" fall on my ear, 

The welcoming "Ye blessed, come, 

Inherit now your Heavenly home; 
Not all in vain your lowly toil, your loving ministry, 
Ye did it to the least of these, ye did it unto Me." 

Dear Lord, too oft this craving heart 

Aches with the will 
Some greater deed to do, some loftier part 

In life to fill. 
It seems so little just to give 
The cup of water to revive 

36 



Some thirsty soul — a little child to lead 

O'er the rough path — to speak to one in need 

The word of comfort, when I would 

So gladly give this warm life-blood 
My love to show, my service vow to seal 
To Thee who didst Thy love to me so wondrously reveal. 

But oh! in each of these I serve to see 

Thy patient face, 
My loving Lord! Thou Christ of Calvary, 

Thy need to trace! 
Can I desire more? A higher service seek? 
Or more reward, to hear Thy dear voice speak 

The "Inasmuch" to me, my little deed 

To crown and glorify with such a meed 
Of praise? Enough, my soul, the lowliest ministry 
Is" great, thus sweetly blessed "Ye did it unto Me." 



"AND IT WAS NIGHT." 

John xiii : 30. 

An "upper room," at eve, a circle sad, 

Met at a mournful, parting feast 
With Him whose voice had ever made them glad, 

Whose words their sorrow now increased. 
A traitor's hand is with them on the board! 
A traitor's heart, with dark intentions stored, 
Rests near to His whose love he cannot doubt! 
The sop received, Judas went quickly out, 
"And it was night." 

And then night, black as Egypt's fearful gloom, 

Without one hope-inspiring ray, 
Fell on his soul, who from that sacred room, 

Went forth his Master to betray. 
Possessed of Satan — slave of sordid gain — 
He sold his* God, nor could the price retain. 
One traitorous kiss, one glance at Jesus' face, 
Remorse awoke — he went "to his own place" 
Where all is night! 

37 



Oh, hour of darkness! night of sorrow drear! 

To those by this dark deed bereft 
Of Him whose presence had become so dear, 

Whom absent, hope nor joy were left. 
And He, the world's Redeemer! who can tell 
The heavy cloud which on His spirit fell, 
As, to His foes betrayed by trusted friend, 
He meekly hastens to the tragic end — 
To Him 'twas night. 

Jesus! basely sold and crucified 
By man, who by Thy death doth live, 

Canst Thou, now on Thy throne all-glorified, 
The guilty race still spare, forgive? 

Oh, wondrous love! that through a night of woe 

Eternal morning brings to cruel foe. 

And from the shameful cross with bleeding hand 

Lifts up the curtain of that blissful land 

Where there's no night. 



THE PRAYER OX OLIVET. 

Evening had deepened into night; darkness 

And stillness reigned o'er fair Judea's land. 

The busy hum of active life was o'er; 

For man and beast, weary with the day-tcil, 

Were hushed in deep repose. Wrapped in a robe 

Of shadow calmly stood Jerusalem; 

Her towers and domes, no longer gilded by 

The setting sun, rose stern and dark and tall, 

Like the helmed visage of the Roman guard, 

Who pacing to and fro. kept faithful watch 

Before her ponderous gates. 

In silence now 
Behold a band of lowly ones come forth 
And wend their way, with measured steps and slow, 
Out from the dusty streets to Olive's mount. 
The soldier at the gate paused as they passed 
To cast a searching look upon the train, 

38 



Then mingled scorn and pity curled his lip, 

As he beheld the hated Nazarene. 

They glided on — their hearts oppressed with grief 

And a vague dread of evil yet unknown. 

The declaration of their cherished Lord 

To His disciples at the mournful feast — 

That He should be betrayed by one of them — 

Weighed on their startled spirits with a load 

Of solemn sadness. Could they be so base, 

So traitorous to one they loved so well? 

Impossible! thought fondly each and all. 

"Though all forsake and earth's great powers stand 

Combined to overcome, yet will not I," 

Said the impetuous Peter. Alas! 

Poor human strength — how confident in self, 

How weakly falling in the first temptation! 

Now 
Mid the solitude of clustering groves, 
The midnight air is stirred by Jesus' voice 
Whose tender accents breathing peace and love 
Refresh and calm the sorrow-weary band. 
Lifting His eyes to heaven He prays for them. 
And what a prayer! 0! ye whose hearts refuse 
To melt with penitence and grateful love 
At the repeated story of the Cross, 
Draw near and view the wondrous scene and hear 
A wondrous Saviour's parting prayer! Behold 
The Son of God! Heir of creation's wealth! 
Surrounded by a few of earth's redeemed, 
In a lone spot at night praying for them! 
The gentle stars light up His lifted brow, 
Revealing there an agony of soul 
Unspoken yet, reserved for that strange hour 
Of spirit-strife in sad Gethsemane; 
While the bewildered group, awed by the mystery, 
In attitudes of rapt devotion stand. 
Tones of iEolian sweetness breathing words 
More beautiful and tender than e'er fell 
On mortal ear before that hour or since, 
With Kedron's murmurs mingle and ascend 

39 



In melting cadence to the Father's throne. 
Methinks the angelic host of Heaven bent 
From their bright home to listen and repeat 
Each meek petition — while their golden harps 
Were hushed that the pure echo of His voico 
Pleading for sinful man, might fill the arch 
Celestial with a melody divine. 

Oh! what unfathomed love! Thus in an hour 
O'ershadowed by a cloud of woe untold, 
The world's Redeemer, self-forgetful, seeks 
His Father's blessing on His chosen ones. 
That prayer is o'er — but through the aisles of Time, 
Amid the tumult of Life's rapid tide, 
Its echoes still in holy wavelets come, 
And man, sin-burdened, joys to hear the sound, 
And, comforted, adds gratefully his own 
"Amen!" 



"ECCE HOMO." 
John xix : 5. 

Gabbatha — in the judgment hall 
Of Roman might — a coward judge — a throng 

Of heartless madmen — mid them all, 
In patient sufferance of untold wrong, 
Serene, resigned, with conscious power strong, 
Behold the man! 

The Christ! by ancient seers foretold — 
A man with whom no mortal can compare — 

The Jews' Messiah, sought of old, 
He comes, the sins of multitudes to bear, 
And in His people's woe and weakness share; 
Behold the man! 

"He came unto His own," but lo! 

"His own received Him not"; despised He stands 

The victim of their wrath; the woe 

Of woes piercing His soul; life in His hands 
Rejected; scorned by heartless, thankless bands: 
Behold the man! 



40 



They brought Him forth, thorn-crowned, in pain; 

Attired in robes of mock regality; 
The sign of Heavenly kingship plain 

On His pale brow enstamped — the majesty 

Of God blending with human agony: 
Behold the man! 

They brought Him forth, scourged, bleeding, faint, 
Bowed 'neath the burden of a whole world's sin; 

Bearing the loan" without a selfish plaint, 
That dying souls may life immortal win, 
And through the gates of glory enter in. 
Behold the man! 

And yet all power was His — a word 

From those closed lips and angel hosts would come 
Swift to defend their injured Lord, 

And hurl His fierce opposers to their doom — 

But silent, suffering in sinners' room, 
Behold the man! 

Ah! Pilate, did a gleam of truth 

Flash on your secret soul in that dark day? 

Else why the faltering voice forsooth, 
The troubled brow, as you so weakly say, 
"I find no fault in Him, take Him away!" 
Behold the man! 

And ye who in your hearts of stone 

Cry "Crucify Him!" "Crucify Him!" still- 
Bleeding for your sins to atone, 

Dying to save you from unmeasured ill 
A sinless sacrifice on Calvary's hill — 
Behold the man! 

The day will dawn — it hastens now — 
When He before the world shall reappear; 

Not 'neath the cross again to bow, 
But as a Conqueror a crown to wear! 
Then shall ye in dismay and abject fear 
Behold the man! 

41 



O Christ! all human, all divine! 
Pattern of patience and humility! 

Inspire my soul with grace like Thine, 
That I may bear life's trials patiently, 
And in that day of terror tranquilly 
Behold the man! 



GOD'S CHRIST. 

Behold Him now, a captive bound and led 

By ruffian guards, fainting and almost dead 

With spirit-conflict; hurried from the place 

"Where He had sought in grief His Father's face, 

From angel ministry, to cruel doom 

Of hate-envenomed tongues in priestly room. 

Behold Him now, the Son of Man, alone, 

Despised, rejected by His very own, 

Scoffed at, and spit upon, struck by rough hands, 

A silent victim, patiently He stands 

And bears it all; His only vain defence 

A lamb-like muteness and calm innocence. 

Oh God! what love but Thine, so infinite, 
Could vengeance e'er restrain at such a sight! 
Oh mystery of grace! unsolved device! 
To save a rebel race, at such a price! 

"Art thou the Christ, the ever Blessed Son?" 
Asked priestly malice of the silent one. 
Placed under oath, to Jewish custom true, 
At length the parted lips their office do: 
The brow uplifts, a majesty divine 
Speaks from that visage marred, in every line. 
And oh that voice! how must its kingly tone 
Have silenced clamor, sounding out alone 
Above all wrath, filling each heart with dread! 
"The Christ? yea, false one, thou hast said; 
Amid the clouds hereafter thou shalt see 
The Son of Man and know that I am He. 
Sitting at God's right hand, mine then the power, 

42 



And thine before thy righteous Judge to cower 

In abject fear, remembering how this day 

Thy murderous hands were lifted up to slay 

Thine own Messiah-King. Ah, do thy worst, 

This is thy day of might, do all thou durst, 

Thou canst but crush this quivering human frame, 

And free the God within it. And this same 

Brief show of power is given thee to fulfill 

My Father's and My Own eternal will. 

Thou dost not take My life — this mortal crown — 

Freely for thee and thine, I lay it down." 

Oh, patience strange! that could so gently deal 
With puny foe, and not the strength reveal 
Of that right arm, which lifted up could call 
Legions of angels at His feet to fall. 

Our human hearts with indignation fill 

At the bare thought of what abuse and ill 

Were heaped on that dear head! With passion strong 

We cry, O gracious Lord! how long! how long! 

Ere that hereafter come when mid the clouds 

Thy kingly face shall reappear; while crowds 

Of seraphim and cherubim adore 

The Lamb, once slain, now living evermore! 

Oh, haste the day when every eye shall see, 

And every tongue confess Thy majesty; 

When all Thy foes shall hide their heads in shame, 

And Heaven and earth shall magnify Thy name; 

No more despised, rejected, disallowed, 

But owned, adored by all, the Christ of God! 



"ELOI! ELOI! LAMA SABACTHANI!" 

Mark xv : 34. 

O weight of woe! O crowning anguish! 

In this last bitter cry we trace: 
The suffering Son allowed to languish 

Without the comfort of His Father's face! 

43 



To die by earthly friends forsaken, 

Were bitterness enough to bear; 
But God has e'en His presence taken — 

Surely He does not His Beloved spare! 

Sinless, yet standing for the sinner, 

Our Sacrifice must fully know 
His direst doom to be the winner 

For us of full salvation from all woe. 

So all alone, behold Him suffer 

The keenest sting of wrathful rod; 
The guiltiest wretch could know no rougher 

Fate than Thine, O patient Lamb of God! 

He dies alone, that we such sorrow 

May never taste, whate'er betide; 
Friends may forsake, but death may borrow 

The sweetest joy with Jesus at our side. 

Thus dies, that now "I'll ne'er forsake thee" 

Shall bring us comfort in our woe; 
"In His own arms thy God shall take thee 

When through the dreary shadow thou shalt go." 

O Love immeasurable! eternal! 

Can we thy depth e'er understand? 
Not till amid the light supernal 

We wholly saved shall clasp Thy pierced hand! 



OUR EASTER CALL. 
Written for an Easter Meeting of a Woman's Missionary 

Society. 

Another Easter-tide draws near — 

Amid fair lilies' bloom 

And violets' perfume, 
Again the wondrous story we shall hear 
Of the first Easter morning bright 

44 



That broke the shadow of earth's darkest night; 

And with the Marys go 

Back to the sepulchre as so 
They early went in Sorrow's true accord, 
With spices to anoint their buried Lord. 

And we shall share their glad surprise, 

As through their blinding tears 

The empty tomb appears! 
The angel to their questioning replies 
"He is not here, but risen, as He said — 

Seek not the living Christ among the dead." 

And then how quickly grief and fear are gone, 
As "Mary!" greets them in the voice well known. 

Oh Friendship, fathomless, divine! 

The world is not too old, 

Nor woman's heart grown cold, 
Nor distance from that rock-hewn shrine — 
"Where Love's devotion met its meed — so great, 

That the fond memory still 

Cannot with rapture thrill 
His own, who for His new arising wait. 

But, deaf Rabboni, speak as well 

To all Thy Marys now; 

Let them as surely know 
Thy quickening voice, and in Thy words "Go tell,' 
Hear their own high commission, and as swift 

Run to obey; untiring bear 

The precious message everywhere — 
"Christ lives! Eternal life is sure!" and lift 
The veil from souls on sin's dark sea adrift. 

woman! honored, glory-crowned, 

By fellowship so blest! 

Canst thou supinely rest 
Beside some tear-wet earthly mound, 
Or in the depths of care or selfish ease? 

Then weakly sigh and ask 

"What is my given task? 
Can such as J the Master find and please?" 

45 



Arise! go forth, thy task is clear; 

Thy privilege is great, 

With Christ to work and wait. 
He goes before, each dreary path to cheer. 
Earth's needy millions call for living bread. 

Thine is the given power, 

This, thine appointed hour 
To minister in thy dear Master's stead. 

Then with the blessed Easter-tide 

Let all who yearn to show 

The heart's warm overflow 
To Him who rose Heaven's gate to open wide, 
With Him arise and hasten on to do 

The bidding of His will — 

Our sacred trust fulfill — 
Love's best anointing is a service true. 



"NO MORE SEA." 

Rev. xxi : 1. 

Is it not beautiful, is it not grand, 

As it rolls in its blue infinity, 
And tosses its surges from land to land? 

Why then is it written "There was no more sea?" 

'Tis so pleasant to watch the crested waves 
As they playfully chase each other on shore, 

And to hear the tones from its musical caves, 
Why should it be written "There was sea no more?' 

Would it not add to the beauty of Heaven, 

If the sea poured its flood 'round the Jasper wall? 

Its waters at rest, by storms never riven, 
Would mirror the glory that on it should fall. 

Ah, treacherous sea! the angel knew well, 
To many thou art a terror and gloom; 

The roar of thy waves a dreary death knell, 
Thy crystalline depths a dark dismal tomb. 

46 



Thy beauty is cold, thy grandeur is grave, 

Thy billows the type of a wild unrest; 
And parting too oft the loving and brave, 

Would mar the sweet peace of the Home of the blest. 

Thy place is on earth, thou endest with time, 
Then roll in thy might, dash on full and free! 

'Tis but for to-day, in yon tranquil clime, 
The angel hath written "There was no more sea." 

No more buried hopes, no quenched household gleams, 

No parting, no sorrow, no mystery; 
Mid fields ever green flow clear crystal streams 

And fountains of water, but "There's no more sea." 



"NO MORE DEATH." 

Rev. xxi : 4. 
O world! so full of darkened homes, 
Of funeral trains and opening tombs, 
Light in the darkness! the promise comes 
"There shall be no more death." 

curse of sin! there comes a day 
When earth, freed from thy tyrant sway, 
With joy shall hear the Conqueror say 
"There shall be no more death." 

The Voice that spoke to Bethany's twain— 
"Thy brother dead shall live again" — 
Once more proclaims o'er land and main 
"There shall be no more death." 

"Come forth!" the call omnipotent 
Is heard; each long sealed tomb is rent, 
And all earth's sleepers wake attent 
To hear "There's no more death!" 

No death, no tears, no deep-drawn sighs, 
No broken hearts, no riven ties; 
Beyond this shadowy vale there lies 
A land with "no more death." 

47 



IN THE SHADOW 



DE PROFUNDIS. 
On the death of President Lincoln — April lJfth, 1S65. 

Out of the depths, O Lord, out of the depths, 

A smitten nation cries to Thee! 

Bowed by the awful mystery 
Of Death — sitting in sackcloth thickly spread, 
Mourning, uncomforted, its honored dead. 

Alas! alas! we're weak to-day; 

A Prince has fallen — our country's stay! 

Our chosen Chief, loved of the Ia~nd, 

Falls in his might by murderous hand! 
Oh God! for such unknown, unfathomed grief, 
Thou, only Thou, canst bring us sure relief. 

The nation's heart so late with victory glad, 
Lies bleeding, 'neath a ponderous cross; 
Crushed, broken by its mighty loss. 
Oh Lord, our Strength! to Thee we turn — for though 
Satanic vengeance aimed the dreadful blow, 
Thy wisdom did permit the deed, 
In it Thy sovereign will we read. 
Thou hast afflicted, Thou must heal, 
Thou sendest grief, Thy love reveal. 
Oh calm our spirits, quench the wrathful thought — 
"We would be still and trust Thee as we ought. 

Man dies — the highest — but the Eternal lives; 

Thou, Chief supreme, our Ruler still, 

Our destiny will hold, fulfill. 
Though treason's factions 'gainst us madly rage, 
Thou canst their wrath restrain, our fears' assuage. 

The powers of sin Thy mandate know, 

Thus far, no farther can they go. 

In Thee oh let the nation trust; 

And now from martyred Mercy's dust 
Rise to a loftier faith, a courage strong, 
To battle firmly 'gainst our country's wrong. 

51 



Nerve Thou each heart, guide Thou each faltering will, 

Without Thee chaos will prevail; 

With Thee our cause will never fail. 
God of the Right! oh heal our stricken land; 
Vengeance is Thine, we leave it in Thy hand. 

No martyr's blood is shed in vain, 

May ours wipe out foul treason's stain, 

And our dear land to peace restore, 

To know disunion never more. 
Grant this, O Lord, and we will meekly bow 
And kiss the rod that smites so sorely now. 



THE NATIONAL FUNERAL. 
"Sic semper tyrannise — April, 1865. 

O pageant of grandeur! O climax of fame! 
No greater e'er honored earth's kingliest name; 
Fit tribute to royalty truest, the best — 
A Patriot martyr thus goes to his rest. 

A nation of mourners with sorrow's keen pain, 

In tears watch the slow-moving funeral train 

Which bears from their midst to a far Western tomb, 

Their Chieftain whose death wraps a country in gloom. 

From hillside and valley they hasten to show 
Some token of love mid the drapings of woe; 
And on that dear casket in silence to gaze, 
With a kiss or a tear or a whisper of praise. 

With flowers the rarest, the sweetest, they crown 
The mortal of him whom immortal renown 
Will wreath evermore — while the slow tolling bell 
And requiems chanted the tale of grief tell. 

Through reverent crowds, mid the perfume of flowers, 
And strains of soft music, 'neath evergreen bowers, 
Like a Hero in triumph they bear him along. 
Do such loving honors to tyrants belong? 

52 



Yet this was the man who thus falsely was styled 
By traitors who basely his goodness reviled; 
Whose words, now immortal, we fondly recall, 
"With malice toward none, hut with mercy to all." 

"Sic semper tyrannis?" yes, thus let it be 
To one who ruled only with Love's tyranny. 
Who held out the sceptre of pardon to foes. 
Too ready to lighten their self-given woes. 

'Sic semper 1 tyrannis!" 'twas Mercy's death knell! 
With the victim of treason her sway darkly fell. 
Now Justice beholding unsheaths her sharp sword, 
Henceforth Retribution stern acts shall record. 

All praise to the Leader whose wise, steady sway 
Has brought us from darkness to hail a new day; 
Whose love for the Right, whose good will to mankind 
And firm faith in God scarce an equal can find. 

But bury him calmly, no more vainly weep, 
His life work is done, let him peacefully sleep. 
For Freedom he died when her victory was nigh. 
His record's with God and the angels on high. 

Side by side through the ages two names shall go down, 
Two patriot lives equal glory shall crown. 
With WASHINGTON, loved as our country's brave sire, 
Stands LINCOLN, her savior — souls tried as by fire! 



THANKS AND SUPPLICATION. 

For President Garfield's Life. July 2, 1881. 

Great God of nations! hear 
A grateful people's prayer — 

Their hymn of praise; 
As low on bended knee 
With trembling ecstasy 
Of hope and joy, to Thee 

Our hearts we raise. 

53 



When o'er 1 our sunlit land 
A mad assassin's hand 

Spread death's dark pall, 
Above their prostrate chief 
Millions are bowed in grief, 
And for Thy quick relief 

United call. 

And not in vain they cry, 
Thou didst not let him die, 

But graciously 
Withheld the fatal blow, 
Stayed the red life-blood's flow, 
Gave length of days below, 

So wondrously. 

Thanks that Thy watchful eye 
And loving hand was nigh 

That fateful hour, 
To guide the deadly dart 
Aimed at a noble heart, 
So not one vital part 

Felt its dread power. 

Thanks for his courage true, 
The dauntless soul that knew 

No craven fear. 
But calmly bore the ill 
With iron nerve and will, 
Sustained and cheerful still, 

With death so near. 

Thanks for the Nation's love, 
All party feuds above, 

Now freshly shown. 
One heart from sea to sea, 
One throb of sympathy, 
One thrill of loyalty, 

For him — their own. 

54 



God bless our fallen head! 
Raise him as from the dead 

To life again. 
Long may his gentle sway 
All fear of strife allay; 
United as to-day 

Our land remain! 

Borne on the Sabbath air 
Let universal prayer 

With praises blend. 
Praise for the mercy sent, 
Prayer with faith's deep intent; 
God save our President! 

The Nation's friend! 



"O WOMAN, GREAT IS THY FAITH!" 

O gentle woman, strong and true! 

When stouter hearts let hope expire, 
The Nation's gloom is cheered by you, 

Your faith relights our flickering fire. 

"He will not die!"* Whence that sure trust? 

Is it not borne of holy faith? 
That He who holds the fleeting breath 

Hath said, "Faith's prayer shall save from death. 

Thine is the central shrine around 
Whose unquenched flame a million more 

Cluster and burn with hope profound, 
And ceaseless supplications pour. 

List! and the gracious answer hear, 

The words the blessed Healer saith; 
"O woman! put away thy fear, 

It shall be even as thy faith." 

• Mrs. Garfield's words soon after the assassination. 

55 



"WHY?" 

"O why am I made to suffer this cruel wrong?" 
Mrs. Garfield, after the President's death, Sept. 19, 1881. 

Out of the darkness of that night of gloom, 
Out of the stillness of that shadowed room, 
From a crushed heart is wrung the questioning cry 
That "Why, oh Why?" 

Dreaded so long, yet a surprise at last. 
Quenched in a moment, prayer and hope are past. 
Ah! can we wonder at the bitter cry, 
The "Why, oh Why?" 

The Nation's heart as well, throbbing with woe, 
Pierced with a stroke few nations ever know, 
In one deep monotone echoes the cry, 
The questioning "Why?" 

We have so truly prayed, so built our faith 
Upon the words our great Physician saith, 
"Prayer will avail to save," yet death was nigh; 
Oh Father, "Why?" 

So long we've stood that suffering bed beside 
Watching with hope or fear the wavering tide; 
It is so hard at last to have him die; 
Forgive the "Why?" 

He seemed to be so needed — calm and strong, 
A Christian Ruler, wise to right the wrong, 
Brave to endure — and yet so soon to lie 
Martyred! Oh "Why?" 

O strangest mystery! that this fair land 
Again should be despoiled by murderous hand; 
Above two martyr-graves should weep and sigh 
And question "Why?" 

Thou knowest why — in vain does puny man 
Essay Thy hidden purposes to scan; 
Thou wouldst be less a God could human eye 
Discern the "Why?" 

56 



Of all Thy ways. The father oft conceals 
From his weak child the reason why he deals 
So sternly with him — then let us trust and try 
Not to ask "Why?" 

Oh could we hut God's fatherhood receive, 
His word "I chasten whom I love," believe, 
Should we so murmur, seek so to descry 
The reason "Why?" 

Let us be still — the Hand that smites will heal; 
Will some day lift the clouds that now conceal 
His ways, and in the Eternal By and By 
We shall know "Why?" 



NOT DEAD, BUT RISEN. 

President McKinley — another Patriot Martyr. 
Sept. U, 1901. 

Not dead — the noble all-embracing soul, 
Not dead, the wise, strong master-mind, 
Not dead, the heart, loving, sincere and kind, 

These live and find immortal strength their goal. 

He lives, for such a life can never die — 
So purposeful in every word and deed, 
Far reaching in its power, 'twill be the seed 

Of growing worth and inspiration high. 

The stately form built on God's perfect plan, 
The thoughtful brow, the ever genial face — 
So winning in its gentleness and grace — 

Were but the semblance of the deathless man. 

The visible is gone, but in a higher sphere 

He lives a nobler service to fulfill. 

God called, he calmly yielded his own will, 
And passed beyond all limitations here. 

57 



Mourn the sad passing of our honored head; 

Heap rarest blossoms o'er his sacred clay; 

Let the whole world its truest homage pay — 
A Christian hero crowned! he is not dead. 

His presence in our councils has not fled; 

His voice in echoes clear will still abide; 

His wisdom, rare, the Nation still will guide. 
McKinley lives! Let no one call him dead. 



"TWILIGHT DELL"— GREENWOOD. 
In Memoriam H. B. 

How calm thy rest — great city of the dead! 

My thoughts grow tender as I softly tread 

Thy silent aisles. A holy charm pervades 

The stillness of thy consecrated shades; 

For here fond Memory holds a sacred trust, 

Deep buried from my sight beneath its kindred dust. 

On this May morn how bright the vernal bloom, 
Which mantles hill and vale, dispelling gloom 
And kindling quiet joy! Pure blossoms spread 
In snowy wreaths above the sleeping dead 
Invest thee with a saintliness as fair 
As the celestial robes of white the angels wear. 

Here Art and Nature their best skill combine 

To beautify Affection's hallowed shrine; 

But sculptured stone or rich parterre are nought, 

One lowly spot engages all my thought. 

One dear secluded vale, ah! can I tell 

How much of life to me lies in this "Twilight Dell?" 

Here let me pause, while tenderly I bend 

O'er the low mound that hides a loving friend. 

Such love, so pure, I ne'er may know again 

While I a pilgrim on this earth remain. 

But, selfish heart, why hopelessly repine? 

Enough for thee to know that once such love was thine. 

58 



My soul her image holds, yet I essay 

Vainly with words, its beauty to portray; 

Mind, heart, form, feature all alike so fair, 

A blended loveliness, on earth too rare. 

"The good die first" — ah ne'er a truer thought 

Fell from a poet's lips with inspiration fraught! 

"The good die first" — cast in a mould refined, 

Too fragile to endure, they seem by God designed 

To give to coarser souls who darkly stray 

A glimpse of Heaven then lead themselves the way: 

By an embodiment of Heavenly grace 

To fit us to behold His own all-glorious face. 

Such was her life whose early flight from earth 

We deeply mourn — a life of rarest worth, 

A fount of good, a ministry of love 

Lifting our earth-born souls to heights above; 

A life of active faith and earnest zeal, 

Eternity alone its influence can reveal. 

Bright is the record Memory keeps, engraved 
On living tablets, thus securely saved 
From Time's defilement and the tomb's decay. 
Though the dear form may moulder 'neath the clay, 
The hearts that loved her best they only know 
How true and beautiful was that brief life below. 

But is she dead? Can Goodness ever die? 

Shadow of Him who lives eternally! 

Does spirit-beauty perish with the breath? 

Is Love extinguished at the touch of Death? 

No! stars may pale, all finite glory fade, 

Germs of the Life immortal, these live undecayed! 

They are not lost, the beautiful, the true! 

A mystic veil but hides them from our view. 

Their presence still is with us, loving, bright, 

Though undiscerned by our dull mortal sight. 

They wear this fading robe of clay no more, 

In fadeless grace, soul-free, they walk the Eternal shore. 

59 



Beloved! shall we grieve that thou art free? 
Free from the cross so early laid on thee? 
"Perfect through suffering," no more years of pain 
Nor weariness nor care to thee remain; 
Rest, Peace, unchanging hliss forever thine! 
Death was to thee the archway to a Life divine. 

A life without the shadow of a cloud; 
A spirit-heing with new powers endowed; 
Expanding as its untold cycles move, 
Growing in knowledge, holiness and love. 
Mysteries in truth and grace, unfathomed here, 
To thine enraptured vision now unfolded clear. 

And not alone art thou in yonder sphere; 

Kindred and friends, beloved and cherished here, 

Are with thee glorified; and dearer still 

One whom thy soul adored through good or ill. 

Courage, my heart! a few more years of strife 

Will bring thee to the dawn of the same blessed Life. 

Then wherefore be dismayed, why sadly weep, 
When Christ to thy beloved giveth sleep? 
The parting will be brief, in patience wait 
The sure reunion at the Pearly Gate. 
Oh blissful hope! these murmuring thoughts dispel! 
Farewell unhallowed grief! farewell dear "Twilight 
Dell." 



SUDDEN TRANSITION. 

"There is but a step between me and death." 

A step! no more, a fluttering breath, 
A mortal chill parts life and death. 

A farewell glance, a quick adieu! 
Earth fades, Eternity's in view. 

One day in health's fresh roseate bloom, 
The next, pale, waiting for the tomb. 



At morn erect in manhood's day, 
At night, prostrate in death's decay. 

But to the Christian, oh how sweet! 
That step transports the weary feet 

From thorny paths and tiresome ways, 
To golden streets and restful days. 

A moment shivering on the verge, 
The next beyond the river's surge. 

A moment in the valley's shade, 
Then to the Eternal hills conveyed. 

To-day worn with the world's vain quest, 
To-morrow, calm, supernal rest. 

One step from Satan's tempting charms, 
To safe repose in Jesus' arms. 

Only one step from sin's sad load, 
To spotless holiness and God! 

O blest transition! glorious change! 
This human shrinking passing strange! 

Why should we choose the lingering pain, 
The weary waste of heart and brain, 

Why cling to earth and mortal fear, 
When Life immortal is so near? 

Lord, let me always ready be 
Quick to depart and go to Thee. 

Ready to take the one step more 

Which parts me from the Heavenly shore. 



'TIS JUST ACROSS THE RIVER. 

The Land that holds our treasures, 
Where sin nor death can mar, 

The land of lasting pleasures 
Is not so very far; 

'Tis only so in seeming, 



61 



And in our human fear, 
For often in our dreaming 

That land is very near — 
The land where friends ne'er sever, 
'Tis just across the River. 

'Tis but a moment's journey, 

A closing of the eye — 
A fluttering breath, a turning 

From earth all wearily; 
A flight through regions airy, 

Swift as a flashing beam — 
A sail with boatmen wary 

Over a narrow stream. 
Bright land of the forever! 
'Tis just across the River! 

And when Faith's sunlight lingers 

Upon the mystic tide, 
Clouds, touched by angel fingers, 

No more its glories hide. 
Lost kindred, loved and loving, 

So near us seem to stand, 
That while mid earth scenes moving, 

We clasp them hand to hand. 
Fair land where love dies never! 
'Tis just across the River! 

Then wherefore this repining 

For dear ones gone before? 
Since Faith reveals them shining 

Safe on the other shore. 
Though lost to mortal vision, 

They're never far away; 
And soon to their Elysian 

Our weary feet may stray. 
Home of the soul forever! 
'Tis just across the River! 

62 



UNDER THE ROD. 

"In faithfulness hast Thou afflicted me." 

A shadow on our pathway, cold and drear! 
Life's day seemed wondrous bright, 
We dreamed not that so dark a night 

Of woe could be to us so very near. 

We sported with the pleasant things of earth 

And thought, "Ah, it is well 

With us, our joy we cannot tell." 
And inly sighed that ill should e'er have birth. 

Then came the stroke — joy turned to grief, 

And light to darkness grim. 

Sweet, to a bitter cup, the brim 
Pressed to our lips. Earth brought us no relief. 

The firstling of our flock! "Dear Lord," we cried. 
"Take any other, spare 
This best beloved, so young and fair!" 
In vain — the Spoiler touched, she drooped and died. 

In her fresh maidenhood, when every day 

Added new grace; when life 

Was joy, and coming years all rife 
With promise, from our sight she passed away. 

Our clinging love was riven; in dumb despair 
We loosed our tender hold, 
Pressed the dear lips so pale and cold, 

Laid her beneath the snow and left her there. 

Ah, must it be! do we so need the rod, 
Dear Lord? Have we so strayed 
From Thee and duty? As we prayed 

We heard, "Be still and know that I am God." 

"Thy God and Father; can I be unkind, 

Or needlessly chastise 

The child I love? Am I not wise 
And pitiful, to mercy most inclined? 

63 



This trial is a blessing, trust Me now — 

Though thy weak sense can see 

Only a painful mystery, 
Believe 'tis best — hereafter thou shalt know. 

Thy treasure is not lost, 'tis safe with Me; 

Lifted above thy reach 

Till learned the lesson I would teach 
Of upward looking, then restored to thee." 

Father, 'tis right. O throbbing heart be still! 

O human blindness! trust 

The hand that lays thee in the dust 
But to uplift thee, mingling good with ill. 

Too long we've lived for Earth, and worshiped Self; 

Dear Lord, forgive our sin; 

Unbar our hearts and enter in, 
Take what Thou wilt, only leave there Thyself. 



IN DARKNESS. 

"The light of mine eyes is gone from me." 

Written for a widowed mother on the death oj her 
only child. 

Alone and desolate but for Thy presence, Lord; 

O come and lift me from this vale of grief! 
Thy hand hath smitten me, and only in Thy word, 

Thy loving promise can I find relief. 

No sorrow seems like mine, so helpless, heavy, deep; 

My life, my joy, my earthly comfort gone! 
Gone from my sight, can I do else but weep? 

Pity and pardon me if it is wrong. 

I know Thy cross was heavier, and keener still 
The agony that weighed Thy spirit down, 

As mid the shadows of Gethsemane Thy will 
Bowed to the Father's, meekly bore His frown. 

64 



But oh this mortal weakness! when I try to say 

"Thy will, not mine, be done," my heart grows faint 

And questions wildly, "Was there not some other way 
I could be chastened and esteemed a saint?" 

Jesus, forsake me not, remember Thine own woe, 
And then forgive Thy sinning, sorrowing child; 

Weakly I lean on Thee, Thy grace and strength bestow, 
Calm with Thy peace grief's billows dark and wild. 

I would be patient, would in trustful quiet rest 

Upon Thy love along my lonely way, 
And wait, believing all Thou dost is surely best, 

Till the unfolding of a brighter day. 



LULIE'S FIRST BIRTHDAY IN HEAVEN. 

March 10, 1867. 

Thirteen to-day! Child of our love, how bright 
Would be thy smile upon this natal morn 
If thou wert here! 
How joyously our hearts have hailed the light 
Of the glad day when thou wert born, 
Year after year! 

And how would we delight our love to show 
By bringing gifts to gladden thy young heart 
Again to-day. 
But ah! a shadow hides our sunshine now; 
We seek thee vainly, for alas! thou art 
Far, far away. 

So far, and yet I seem to feel thee near, 
E'en at my side, as now with saddened thought 
I think of thee, 
Thy kiss is on my cheek as once so dear, 
Thy loving words and ways are freshly brought 
All back to me. 

65 



Ah! little did we dream a year ago — 
And thou so full of life and joy to greet 
Thy birthday dawn — 
When next it came we should be mourning so, 
And walking 'neath a cloud with weary feet, 
Thy presence gone. 

We held thee then as but a child — our own — 
Nor dreamed how soon thy girlhood would expand 
With wondrous grace 
To angel womanhood, all wisdom known, 
All beauty thine, as with the seraph band 
Thou hast a place. 

Lifted so far above us, we no more 

Can teach thee, but ourselves might humbly learn 
Lessons refined 
From thee to-day, vast depths of heavenly lore, 
Could we such spirit mysteries discern 
With mortal mind. 

Only thirteen! so early done with life 

Below, its tiresome tasks and teachers dull; 
Wearied no more 
With study, nor with hindering pain at strife, 
But happy freedom, knowledge ripe and full 
Thine evermore! 

And yet our hearts with selfish yearning long 
To clasp thee, darling, in our arms again; 
Feel thy warm breath 
Mingling with ours, to hear thy gleeful song 
Ring through these silent halls where only reign 
Echoes of death. 

But we repress the wish, the murmur quell; 
Stay with the angels, it is better so: 
Folded above 
In the Good Shepherd's arms. Ah! it is well; 
This world is wearisome, and mixed with woe 
All finite love. 

66 



Perhaps thou art the centre of our band 
Of gathered ones to-day, to each endeared; 
And while we weep 
They praise, a cherub sister holds thy hand, 

And he whose dreary age thy sunshine cheered, 
With some unknown till now, in that fair land, 
Thy birthday keep. 

Let it be so, and as this day returns 
With sacred mem'ry, 'twill be joy to think 
How year by year 
The happy hour for which our spirit yearns, 
The blest Reunion at the River's brink, 
Is drawing near. 

"SUFFER THE LITTLE CHILDREN TO 
COME UNTO ME." 

Mark x : 14. 

We listen, charmed with Jesus' sweet command, 

And long to place beneath His loving hand 

Our little ones, that they may early be 

Folded in His kind arms so tenderly. 

But soon He sends his angel Death to some, 

And calls more clearly, "Let the children come." 

And then we start and wildly cry, "Lord, nay, 

Oh make them Thine, but let them with us stay; 

This world will be so dark, so sadly still 

Without their glee the dreary void to fill." 

"Forbid them not" — the Voice thrills through our 

home — 
"Suffer the children unto Me to come." 

"Cut loose those clinging tendrils though they bleed; 
Unclasp thine arms and let the spirit freed 
Wing its glad flight to brighter spheres above, 
To know My better care, My deeper love. 
Safe in My fold, they nevermore shall roam. 
Suffer the children unto Me to come." 

67 



"Thy prayer is heard, though you may call them dead, 
With Me they live, and on each angel head 
My hand in blessing rests, My arms enfold 
Each infant form; here they shall ne'er grow old, 
Nor want nor sorrow know in this blest Home; 
Suffer the children unto Me to come." 

Dear Lord! we know, we feel that this is so. 

Oh, give us strength to let our dear ones go 

At Thy command, to strive more earnestly 

To train the living for eternity — 

That they may share the same unshadowed Home 

With Thee who said, "Let the dear children come." 



"IS IT WELL WITH THE CHILD?" 

II Kings iv : 26. 

Yes, it is well, though fast the tears are falling, 
And sobs of anguish rend the breast. 

We know it was the Saviour gently calling 
"Come to My bosom, little one, and rest." 
So it is well. 

'Twas hard to see our little darling wrestling 
With the Death angel's fearful power, 

And know how soon she would asleep be nestling 
In his cold arms to wake on earth no more. 
Yet it is well. 

And when she seemed so peacefully reposing 

In her sweet infant loveliness, 
'Twas hard to see the dark grave o'er her closing 

And hiding the dear form from our caress, 
Still it is well. 

Too frail for earth, our little fragile flower, 
Saved from the chilling frosts of life, 

Transplanted early to a heavenly bower, 
Will ever bloom, untouched by care or strife, 
So it is well. 

68 



God loved our child and took her deathless spirit 

Up to His own all-glorious Home, 
To dwell with angels and their bliss inherit, 

For Jesus said, "Let little children come." 
Then it is well. 

His love is stronger than our weak affection 

However well we think we love, 
And better far than ours, His sure protection, 

Fairer than mansions here, His House above. 
Yes, it is well. 

In that safe fold, no pain or want molesting, 
Secure from childhood's wild alarms, 

Forever blest, our precious lamb is resting 
Sweetly in the Good Shepherd's loving arms. 
Ah yes, 'tis well. 

Those little feet would here be often weary 

And led to stray in paths of sin; 
Shadowed too oft by clouds and tempests dreary, 

Might fail at last the victor's crown to win; 
'Tis well, 'tis well. 

Now early saved from Life's stern care and duty, 
From Time's assoil and Death's dark fear, 

Our darling lives to grow in angel beauty, 
And taste fresh joy with every added year; 
Yes, yes, 'tis well! 

Father! be pitiful, grant resignation; 

In this weak hour be Thou our stay. 
Forgive our human grief, send consolation, 

And give us strength and courage still to say 
Lord, it is well. 

ON THE BRINK OF THE RIVER. 
May 13, 1867. 
By the brink of the shaded River" 
God called me to walk one day. 
Oh! the chilliness made me shiver, 
And I tried to turn away. 

69 



But my hand was clasped in another, 

A hand that had held me fast 
All my life. Ah! who like a mother 

So fondly clings to the last? 

Together we pressed near and nearer, 

Till we touched the waters wild. 
I started, her calm look said clearer 

Than words, "I'm going, my child." 
"Going far over the River 

Where our dear ones wait for me. 
The angels will take me safe over, 

And shortly will come for thee." 

Then wildly I sought to detain her 

With a fond clinging caress; 
Praying, "Father! oh let me retain her 

This dreary life yet to bless." 
But while I thus cried out for pity, 

She saw, what I could not see, 
The gates of the wonderful City 

Wide open across the sea. 

And all my entreaties unheeding, 

Away on the darkling tide 
Her spirit too swiftly receding, 

Left me alone on this side; 
Alone on the brink of the River 

Bewildered with darkness and woe, 
In my heart a terrible quiver, 

In my ear the sad waves flow. 

But while with eye fixed and breath bated, 

Longing vainly for one sight more 
Of my vanishing joy, I waited, 

A wave from the farther shore 
Brought ripples of heavenly music, 

A welcoming choral sound, 
And flashes of wonderful glory 

Illumined the clouds around. 

70 



Then I seemed with the spirit's assistance 

Brought nearer the far-off land, 
Where faces I knew in the distance 

Shone bright mid the white-robed band, 
And I heard through the tuneful humming 

A child's voice say to its mate, 
"Look, Grandpa, dear Grandma is coming! 

Let us meet her at the Gate." 

And over the pavement golden, 

On through the beautiful street, 
With others more steady and olden 

Tripped lightly the little feet. 
And oh! what a rapturous greeting, 

What folding in love's embrace, 
My lost one received at the meeting 

Of kindred in that bright place. 

Then slowly the glittering portal 

Closed on my wondering sight; 
And back to the shades of the mortal, 

Alone in the stillness of night, 
I stood on the brink of the River, 

Parted from Love evermore, 
Till its waves my soul shall deliver 

From earth to yonder fair shore. 

And back to Life's pilgrimage dreary, 

Back to my sorrow and tears, 
I turned heavy-hearted and weary, 

To tread out the coming years. 
But a light from the shore Elysian 

Oft glimmers across the sea; 
And the thought of my Heavenly vision 

Brings comfort and strength to me. 

A MINOR STRAIN. 

Gladness and beauty everywhere! 
The earth and sky, birds of the air 
And creeping things, rejoice to give 
Praises to Him who bids them live. 

71 



All Nature thrills beneath a touch divine; 
Then why so sadly still, O heart of mine! 

Sweet Summer, beautiful and bright, 
Scatters its charms of sound and sight, 
Sunshine and song, fragrance and bloom, 
Leaving for selfish grief no room. 
But Summer grace nor melody can start 
One note responsive in this silent heart. 

So out of tune with Nature! sad, 

When all Creation seems most glad! 

Oh thankless heart, thus to repine 

Because God's purpose crosses thine! 
So like a wilful child to chafe and fret, 
And all thy Father's lovingness forget. 

What though the heart is still that loved thee best; 

The hands for thee so busy ever, rest. 

Eyes that have met thine own with Love's fond ray, 

Will gladden nevermore Life's weary way; 
The voice, unequalled in its power to bless, 
Is hushed? Yet does God love thee less? 

Not less, but more; this chastening proves 

His Fatherhood, how much He loves. 

How He would draw His wandering child 

Close to Himself from dangers wild; 
He lifts the rod, but in one hand the while 
Holds out the cup of comfort with a smile. 

The smile of God! how lovingly 

It rests on all His works! Then be 

Assured, O smitten heart! and wake 

Your harp to praise, its silence break. 
Join in the spheral harmony again, 
E'en though it must be in a minor strain, 

72 



THE VANISHED HAND. 

Oh, "the touch of a vanished hand!" 

It comes to me o'er and o'er, 
As I wander in dreams mid the golden sand 

And drifts on Mem'ry's shore. 

Through the portals of my sleep 

Bright visions flit to and fro; 
Like a child I laugh, and again 1 weep, 

As I did in the long ago. 

And anear me I see a face 

Bent as in loving caress, 
With a smile I know in its silent grace 

And its old-time tenderness. 

And with it that "vanished hand," 

Those fingers so deft and fair, 
So oft uplifted in gentle command, 

Or laid on my rumpled hair, 

Again is as tenderly pressed 

On my wishful, throbbing brow, 
And the touch transfigures the fading Fast 

Into a glorified Now. 

Oh the vanished things of earth 

Are never so far away, 
But stillness and shadow can give them birth 

With the strength of eternal day! 

A YEAR AGO. 
May 13, 1868. 

How near, and yet how far off seems 
That point of time — the dreary day 

That quenched in night its brighest gleams — 
As cold and silent our beloved lay 

So beautiful in her last sleep, 

Smiling, while we in anguish weep. 

day of woe! One year ago! 

73 



A year ago! 
And yet it seems but yesterday 
We tasted of the cup of grief, 
So long its bitterness doth stay, 

So little has Time brought relief; 
And Memory so freshly rolls 
The tide of sorrow o'er our souls; 

Yet 'twas, we know, a year ago. 

Only a year? 
Rather an age of weary years! 

Uncounted cycles dim and vast! 
So bridgeless the dark gulf appears 

Between the Present and the Past. 
So far off seems the happy day 
When the dear presence cheered our way; 
Though it was so one year ago. 

Ah what is life? 
When the dear mother-love that blessed 

And made it life is once withdrawn, 
And the heart vainly seeks the rest 
Unfailing since its being's dawn? 
'Tis a long night without a star — 
A waiting for some joy afar — 

God taught us so, a year ago. 

And dost thou know, 
Dear one, how thy poor orphaned child, 
Homesick and lone, yearns after thee? 
How Earth seems but a dreary wild 

Since thy fond smile was hid from me? 
Hast thou been near my grief to quell 
With silent love, since on us fell 

That cloud of woe, a year ago? 

I see thee still 
In peaceful visions of the night, 
Beside thee, I forget my pain, 
As round me plays the dear home light 

74 



Without a shadow once again. 
But while I gaze on thy bright face, 
Waking, thou'rt gone from my embrace, 
As thou didst go a year ago. 

From childhood's hour 
I've thought 'twould surely break my heart 

To see thee die, and have to bear 
Life's burdens on from thee apart. 

And yet I live, and sometimes wear 
A smile — as if there were no ache 
Within — as though I did not wake 
To miss thee so, a year ago! 

Ah, is it true 
That thy freed spirit lingers near 

With ministrations sweet to give 
The strength to check the starting tear, 

Courage and patience yet to live? 
Then, wondering heart, the reason see 
Thou didst not break in agony 

When smitten so, a year ago. 

Thank God, my soul, 
That Heaven is not so far away 

But that our loved ones, lost to sight, 
Beside us yet may ever stay 

To make our darkest moments light. 
And still the mother-love, so sweet, 
May watch and guide my stumbling feet, 
Though lost below, a year ago. 

A year ago! 
What an eternity of joy 

And peace, beloved, has been thine, 
Of blessedness without alloy! 

Then why should sighs and tears be mine? 
Why should a murmur cross my breast 
That thou didst enter into rest 

Amid our woe, a year ago? 

75 



"AFTERWARD." 

Not while the surging billows roll 
And overwhelm the struggling soul, 
While darkness black as Egypt's night 
Shuts out all gleams of Heaven's light; 
Not then the blessing comes to show 
The fruits that from affliction grow, 
But "afterward." 

Not while the bleeding, breaking heart 
Aches 'neath the chastening's keenest smart, 
And counting o'er its woes again 
Can only throb with bitter pain; 
Not then the wounded soul can know 
The fruits that from such anguish grow, 
But "afterward." 

Not while with quivering lip and eye 
We watch our dear ones fade and die, 
Or gaze into the open grave, 
Feeling our impotence to save, 
Then, only grievous seems the case — 
The peaceful fruits of righteousness 
Come "afterward." 

When the first tempest gust is o'er, 
Calmed by a Voice unheard before, 
When God's own hand the clouds uplift, 
And stars beam brightly through the rift, 
Tis then the heart begins to know 
What fruit from sorest grief below 
Comes "afterward." 

When Heavenly grace so pure and calm, 
Pours o'er the wound its healing balm; 
While the sweet Comforter is near 
To whisper words of holy cheer; 
The troubled spirit then may know 
What blessedness from pain can flow 
Long "afterward." 

76 



When some bright flower, till then unknown, 
Springs, with a beauty all its own, 
Beside the path so drear before, 
And lives a blessing evermore; 
The lonely heart then learns to smile, 
Counting its treasures less the while, 
But "afterward." 

But ah! not yet may we discern 
One half the blessedness, nor learn 
The hidden good that lurks within 
Each stroke of painful discipline. 
Only in Heaven can we know 
All the rich fruit which earthly woe 
Yields "afterward." 



A TRIBUTE OF GRATEFUL LOVE. 

E. J. S. 

Gone from our sight, yet truly present still, 

And living in the lives and hearts 
Her forceful soul did early touch and thrill 

With the diviner life such power imparts. 

In many a home the impress of her thought 

And culture may be clearly shown, 
As her sweet graciousness is daily taught 

By mother-love in word and tone. 

O'er many a path oft rugged and forlorn, 

There shines through memory's lengthened aisle- 

And clouds uplift, new hope and strength are born- 
The light of her benignant smile. 

Hers was a subtle charm — we could not tell — 

Was it the stately form, the face 
So fair, the love-lit eye, the words that fell 

In gentle tones, the winning grace 

77 



Of sympathy, that wove the wondrous spell 
Around young hearts? Yea, all combined 

And more — the selfless soul which bore so well 
The image of the Christ it shrined. 

She cannot die; a life so strong, so pure, 

So beautiful can never cease; 
Breathed into other lives 'twill still endure, 

And grow in blessing as the years increase. 

Beside her native hills, beneath the flowers 
She loved, the mortal is at rest; 

But the sweet spirit-life will still be ours, 
An inspiration ever blest. 



TO ONE BELOVED. 

Friend of my life! how can 1 let thee go 
Behind the veil, beyond my sight 
And touch, and lose the light 

Of those dear eyes, so long my joy below? 

How can 1 give thee up, and know no more 
The sweet refreshment of thy love — 
To me all earthly springs above — 

Through lonely desert paths that lie before? 

How can I live and know each passing day 
Widens the space from the dear Past, 
"When days were bright from first to last, 

For thy fond smile made sunshine all the way? 

Only one star, beloved, can illume 
The shadow by thine absence cast; 
The thought that each dark night once past 

Brings nearer the glad dawn beyond the tomb 

When we shall meet again, and I shall know 
Such love as thine can never end; 
And for the gift of such a friend 

Praise to the Giver evermore bestow. 

T8 



TIMES AND SEASONS 



THE REAWAKENING. 

Behold again the dreary earth awaking 

From Winter's lengthened slumber! 
Flushed with new life, a rohe of freshness taking, 

Spring's brighter' days to number. 

Nature, so late in deathlike gloom enshrouded, 

Rises in vernal beauty; 
Each buried germ wakes from its tomb unclouded 

And springs to joyful duty. 

A viewless power is everywhere performing 

A daily resurrection; 
Bleak wastes, dead trees and barren fields transforming 

To blossoming perfection. 

May the same Power our lifeless souls inherit, 

And our dead faith enliven; 
Come with Thy quickening breath, Creator Spirit, 

And help us live for Heaven. 

At this glad season when Thy might is thrilling 

The pulses of Creation, 
Revive our sluggish powers, our spirits filling 

With holy inspiration. 

Then shall each hidden germ of grace unfolding 

In living strength and beauty, 
With bud and fruitage bloom*, no more withholding 

Its true and thankful duty. 

So when shall end for us this earthly dreaming — 

Time's wintry hours hasting — 
Our ransomed souls shall rise, with glory beaming, 

To Springtime everlasting. 

81 



SPRINGTIME. 

The Lord is walking with a stately tread 

Amid earth's gardens, and behold! the dead, 
At His revivifying breath, 
Spring from the icy grasp of death! 
Gladly a quick obedience give 
To His command, "Arise, and live." 

His hand is on creation's heart, so still; 

The life-tide flows, the pulses throb and thrill 
With conscious being, and a rosy hue 
Her pale and rigid features clothes anew. 

Gently His fingers touch the silent loom 

Of nature, and its wheels begin to move, 

And swiftly weave the Springtide's robe of bloom 

So noiselessly; its motive power, love. 

O wonder-working will! 

Sublime, supernal skill! 

A touch, a word, a breath 

Revives, reclaims from death, 
Spreads waving verdure over hillsides bare, 
Awakens life and beauty everywhere. 

O Lord, Thy people, with attentive ear, 
Thy tread in Zion's gardens wait to hear; 
Shrouded in more than wintry gloom, 
We watch and sigh for vernal bloom. 
Thy Spirit's quickening breath alone 
Can kindle life in hearts of stone, 
Reanimate dead souls, fresh vigor give, 
Bid the asleep in sin, awake and live. 

Come, source of Life and Light and Spring, 
To Thine own vineyard fruitage bring. 

SEED-TIME. 

The promise does not fail, seed-time again 
Returns, and Earth with hope, delayed, revives. 

The genial sunshine and the gentle rain 
Begin their work and Springtime beauty lives. 

82 



Again the hills resound with notes of Spring, 
The ploughman's whistle, and the sower's song; 

The iron share cutting with cheery ring 
The hardened turf untilled by man so long. 

With patient toil we tread the furrows deep, 

And scatter seed with an unsparing hand; 
Then wait and watch, assured that we shall reap 

When promised harvests wave o'er all the land. 
Thus should we sow with patient trustful care 

In better fields the Gospel's precious seed; 
Then watch and wait with humble faithful prayer 

Till God's own time shall bring our promised meed. 

Dear Lord, so long we've sowed in hope and tears, 

In mellow soil and by the wayside some; 
But little fruit of all our toil appears; 

'Tis seed-time yet— when will the harvest come? 
We know Thy promise standeth just as sure 

In moral as in natural husbandry; 
Then give us faith and courage to endure, 

E'en though we reap not till Eternity. 



AUTUMN CONTRASTS. 

How wondrously bright are these Autumn days, 

This sunset time of the year! 
When the forests are tinged with crimson rays, 

And the skies in golden appear. 

'Tis now God gives in His fullness of love 

To Nature, His favorite child, 
A robe many-tinted of beauty inwove 

With a royalty undefiled. 

A rainbow-like halo each eve enwreathes 

Its glory o'er hilltop and vale; 
But sad to my ear is the rustle of leaves, 

And the echoing wind's low wail. 

83 



It tells of a summer of gladness gone, 

Of death to the lily and rose; 
Of pleasures departed and harvesting done — 

A year hastening on to its close. 

It wakens a sigh for the loved and the lost 

Who sleep in the churchyard alone; 
Where the leaflets fade with the earliest frost, 

And the breeze has a dirge-like tone. 

Yet mid all these tokens of earthly decay 
The promise of God standeth sure — 

That death bringeth life, and Winter's dark day 
Spring heralds, while Time shall endure. 

Thus ever Earth's blessings compounded we meet, 

Thus mingles October with May; 
Tis sunshine and shadow, the bitter and sweet, 

The grave undertoning the gay. 

But Faith whispers sweetly of blessings to come, 

Unmingled with sorrow or strife; 
A Springtime eternal, an unfading Home, 

A deathless, unchangeable Life! 



THE DEATH OF THE LEAVES. 

I walk my garden with a heavy tread; 

A grief I cannot tell 

Steals o'er me as I see 

The things I love so well, 
The bright young leaves fall round me withered, dead. 

Of late so beautiful, they glorified 

Our earth with emerald crown; 

Now low they lie and meekly die, 

In death-robes russet brown, 
Fluttering in air, or in dark hollows hide. 

84 



Heaps upon heaps they lie unburied yet, 

Waiting till snow-flakes spread 
A saintly pall over them all, 

And cover up the dead, 
While wintry winds chant dirges of regret. 

A short, sweet life was theirs, yet not in vain; 

Through the long Summer day, 

A welcome shade their arches made 

From the sun's scorching ray, 
Where weary man and beast might rest again. 

Not shall they die in vain; freely they give 

Their beauty to decay, 

And in their death impart new breath 

To germs that Spring's bright day 
Shall bid arise in beauteous forms to live. 

O gentle leaves! I have a lesson read 

In this brief hour of thought: 
May my life be a ministry, 

Like yours, with good so fraught 
That one at least may mourn when I am dead. 



THE FIRST FROST. 

A blight upon our fair Creation rests! 

The face of Nature, yesterday so bright, 

Downcast and sorrowful appears to-day. 

The lingering Summer bloom is gone, for lo! 

In the still night, while men unconscious slept, 

A spirit stern and cold with noiseless tread 

Walked o'er the earth, and ruin marks his track. 

He breathed upon the flowers, and they died; 

He laid his chilling hand upon the leaves, 

And they hang limp and lifeless from their stems. 

He pressed his foot on Nature's tender heart, 

And sent through every nerve a thrill of pain. 

Quickly the bounding pulse of growth is stopped, 

And in the place of living beauty lie 

Only still, blackened corpses in decay. 

85 



So we have seen the hope of some young life, 
The opening buds of childhood's love and truth, 
Ruthlessly nipped in all their summer bloom, 
By biting word of blame or cruel scorn. 
Unkindness, like the frost, withers the heart 
And checks the growth of loving thoughts and deeds; 
It turns the tide of generous feeling back 
Into itself, which else would gush and flow 
In living streams of good to all around. 
And though the morning sun with fondling beams 
Strives to undo the ill, and warm to life 
Again the beauteous dead, 'tis all in vain — 
The fount of life is dried to flow no more 
Till the eternal resurrection day. 

Oh wound not then the spirit of a child! 
Deal gently with the tender chords that thrill 
By e'en so slight a touch with joy or pain. 
A careless word or act may blight for aye 
The germ of a true life designed to bless 
The world; and all the sunny afterglow 
Of love and care will unavailing be 
To nurse that frosted bud into a flower 1 . 



THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
In War Time, 1863. 

Once more returns the hallowed day of praise, 
Wh?n Pilgrim faith uplifted grateful lays, 
Thus bend we now at sacred shrines and raise 
Our thanks to Thee, O God! 

For bounteous blessings, health and harvests rare, 
New springs of good o'erflowing everywhere, 
For gifts of grace, a loving Father's care, 
We thank Thee, O our God! 

Though traitor's schemes have brought us woes untold, 
O'er our fair land War's direful streams have rolled, 
Still for the light we through the clouds behold, 
We thank Thee, O our God! 

86 



Though shadows deep on many hearthstones rest, 
Where Sorrow sits, an uninvited guest, 
And thoughts of vanished ones fill every hreast, 
We thank Thee still, O God! 

For loyalty supreme, for patriots brave, 
True, dauntless souls who peril life to save 
Our heritage from an ignoble grave, 

We thank Thee, O our God! 

For vic'tries to our arms, to Truth and Right, 
For universal Freedom's dawning light, 
For growing Righteousness, a nation's might, 
We thank Thee, O our God! 

For Thine own Self revealed, a sovereign Will 
Guiding all worlds Thy purpose to fulfill, 
Our Father's Refuge, our strong Fortress still! 
We thank Thee, O our God! 

Oh hear our prayer and by Thy might restore 
Union and Peace to our dear land once more. 
Then grateful hearts shall praise Thee evermore, 
And thank Thee, O our God! 



THANKSGIVING HYMN. 
For Peace, November, 1865. 

Great God! again we sing 

Our yearly hymn of praise; 
Once more our tribute bring 
In glad thanksgiving lays. 
Thy bounteous hand, 

With boundless love 
Has blessed our land 
All lands above. 

Thy kind parental care 

Has kept from want and woe, 
Commanded harvests rare 

For future need to grow'. 

87 



For daily food 

And gifts of grace, 

Oh Lord, our God! 
Thy name we praise. 

A blessing greater still 

Has crowned the passing year; 
Mid conflict's direful ill, 
Sweet Peace again draws near. 
The dismal sound 
Of strife is o'er, 
And brothers found 
Learn war no more. 

Author of Peace! receive 

A nation's thankful song; 
The vict'ries we achieve 
To Thine own arm belong. 
United hearts 

In this glad hour 
To Thee ascribe 
All praise and power. 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 

Hark! what a solemn sound falls on the ear! 

Floating on midnight air 

Like a saint's dying prayer; 
It is the knell of the departing year! 

Dirge-like and low its tone, then swells again 

Like the wild surges' moan, 

Or the deep thunder's groan; 
Now, like the windharp's sadly plaintive strain. 

Softly its lingering echoes seem to say, 

Clear as the tolling bell, 

"Mortals, a long farewell; 
Man, Earth and Time are passing swift away." 

88 



Farewell, Old Year! thy sands are ebbing fast; 

Burdened with hopes and fears, 

Softened with sorrow's tears, 
Go to thy grave in the oblivious Past. 

There in the stillness of that shadowy dome, 

Where buried Ages sleep, 

In slumber, dreamless, deep, 
Mid tombstones of thy sires thou'll find a home. 

Nor shalt thou e'er to us again return; 

Thy priceless moments given 

To fit the soul for Heaven 
Are gone, though long the vital spark may burn. 

Faded are many glowing dreams of Youth, 

Which at thy joyous birth 

Were bright with hopes of earth; 
Now all unrealized they yield to Truth. 

And many visions, too, of riper years, 

Gay pleasures of a day, 

With thee will pass away, 
And hearts, once crowned with smiles, will bow in tears. 

Sad memories cluster round thy fleeting form, 

For snowflakes lightly rest 

On many a loving breast, 
Which when thy course began with life was warm. 

Now the last echo of the parting chime 

Is lost upon the breeze 

Which sighs through forest trees 
A mournful requiem for the passing Time. 

Up the recording Angel wings his flight 

To the great Court above, 

Where Justice throned with Love 
Receives his record writ in words of light. 

"Another year has flown! its blessings spurned, 

Man will review with grief; 

And now, another leaf 
In the great book of human life is turned."' 



FAREWELL TO THE YEAR. 

The year is dying, slowly dying; 

Gather softly round his bed, 
Wearily behold him lying, 
While Earth's many voices, sighing 

Chant a requiem for the dead. 

Breathe a loving prayer of blessing 

In the aged pilgrim's ear; 
Our misdeeds to him confessing, 
Thanks for every good expressing, 

Strive his dying hour to cheer. 

Faithfully his servant willing 

His appointed race has run; 
God's own purposes fulfilling, 
Human destiny revealing 

Patiently from sun to sun. 

Now his earthly record's ended, 
Nothing more remains to tell. 

Let the hero die, attended 

By Hope and Love and Sorrow blended, 
While we say, "Old year, farewell!" 



A NEW YEAR REVERIE. 

Another year with hope and promise bright 

Is dawning on mankind. Upon the arch 

Of time spanning the narrow gulf which parts 

The Old and New we stand with solemn thought 

And view at once the swift receding wave 

Of the past year and the unruffled stream 

Of that to come. Soon we shall launch our bark 

Upon the onward tide to meet its toil 

And danger, calm or storm, unknown as yet, 

And leave upon its shores a witness true 

That we have passed that way. 

90 



The rushing "breeze 
Brings to our ears a murmur from the past, 
A minor undertone of human woe: 
Lost hopes, departed joys and buried loves 
Gone with the year! By many a home there rests 
Death's dreary shadow, and the festive board 
Lacks the full joy of an unbroken band. 
And yet all is not sad. Blessings from God, 
Like Israel's daily manna, fresh and free, 
Have fallen on our path. So thankfully 
We cast aside our sorrow as we close 
The record of the dying year. 

Behold 
Before us like a field of spotless snow, 
Pure and untrodden, lies the fresh new year; 
Untracked by man, unstained by aught of sin 
Or grief. We pause ere yet our footstep makes 
Its mark thereon and seek for strength above 
That we may plant it wisely, nobly, well. 
The past is gone, the future is our own 
To dim or brighten by deeds good or ill. 
Let us go bravely forth, trusting in God, 
And fearing naught but sin, to earnest work 
For Christ and man, that we may leave the print 
Of only lofty thoughts and words and deeds, 
Which to some wandering soul that follows on 
May make the coming year the road to Heaven. 



A NEW YEAR THOUGHT. 

Once more I stand beside an open door — ■ 
The New Year's portal — and., as oft before, 
I pause upon the threshold, almost fear 
To enter the unknown domain; to hear 
The echo of my footsteps, as they break 
The silence of the yet unpeopled way; 
To meet the waiting changes, and to take 
My part in life's new drama, day by day. 

01 



And yet, I cannot linger; swiftly glide 
The moments, and the door swings open wide. 
I am within, and cannot backward trace 
One single step; but patiently must face 
What e'er may come, assured that good or ill, 
One who knows all the way will lead me still. 

The Old Year brought me sorrow, shall the New 

Bring only joy? Shall he my pathway strew 

With flowers, or thorns? I cannot tell; in vain 

I peer into the shadow dim to gain 

One glimpse of the beyond. I can but pray 

"Lead Thou me on," in faith's unquestioning way. 

Let the crushed roses of the past exhale 

Their fragrance through the New Year's dubious vale. 

"Lead Thou me on." Let this year see attained 
Some truer good, some loftier summit gained 
In spirit life; some higher steps in grace 
Lead Thou my wavering feet to trace. 
To better service, a more steadfast zeal 
Guide me and make Thy guiding real; 
With my weak hand in Thine, O, Master dear, 
I would begin and end this fresh New Year. 



"HAPPY NEW YEAR P 

Why this doleful wail of sadness, 

Every year? 
Undertoning all our gladness, 

Every year? 
Why at fleeting years so fretful, 
Of the dead Past so regretful, 
Of the living Now forgetful, 

Every year? 

Is not God in wisdom guiding 

Every year? 
Though to us His purpose hiding, 

Every year? 



92 



Joy there is for every sorrow, 
For each night a bright to-morrow, 
From the Past fresh strength we borrow, 
Every year? 

Faith and Hope are growing stronger, 

Every year; 
As the trodden way grows longer, 

Every year. 
Left behind the paths most dreary, 
Passed the doubts that vex and weary, 
Brighter gleams the sunshine cheery, 

Every year. 

Fewer cares and lighter burdens, 

Every year. 
Brighter hopes and truer guerdons, 

Every year. 
Earthly joys may fade forever, 
Earthly ties to friends may sever, 
One there is more dear than ever, 

Every year. 

And the Father's house is dearer, 

Every year; 
And our lost ones coming nearer, 

Every year; 
Less is there below to charm us, 
Less in "growing old" to harm us, 
Less does the unknown alarm us 

Every year. 

Let us then cease such repining, 

Every year, 
And believe the Love o'ershining, 

Every year. 
Things that are behind forgetting, 
Onward press without regretting, 
To the morn that knows no setting, 

Blest New Year! 

93 



BIRTHDAY VERSES. 

What shall I ask for thee, my child, 

What shall I ask for thee? 
A birthday gift of gold most rare, 
Some costly treasure, rich and fair, 

To fill thy heart with glee? 

What shall I ask for thee, my child, 

What shall I ask for thee? 
Shall I ask that beauty's charms be thine, 
So mid the gay thou'lt gayly shine, 

The brightest star to be? 

What shall I ask for thee, my child, 

What shall I ask for thee? 
That fortune may her gifts bestow, 
That thou no want or care may know, 

No earthly sorrow see? 

Not these I ask for thee, my child, 

Not these I ask for thee; 
A better birthday wish is mine — 
'Tis that the best of gifts be thine, 

A heart from sin made free. 

A heart of love to Him who died 

On Calvary's cruel tree; 
A clean white robe of grace to wear, 
The Saviour's lovely image bear; 

'Tis this I ask for thee. 

Yes, this I ask for thee, my child, 

This good I ask for thee: 
The pearl of greatest price to own, 
A child of Jesus to be known, 

And Heaven thy home to be. 



94 



ON TAKING DOWN THE CHRISTMAS 
GREENS. 

Take down the faded wreaths, 

Untwine the garlands gay, 
Though the glad time we hung them up 

Seems but as yesterday. 
And from their crumbling leaves 

We still can almost hear 
The echoes of the Carols sweet 

And Greetings of New Year. 

But ah! full well we know 

The festive season's o'er; 
And treading in life's dusty ways 

We find ourselves once more. 
Swifter than wheels of steam 

The golden hours have rolled; 
And while we dreamed the year was young, 

We wake to find it old. 

Now clear above the din 

Of daily toil and care, 
We hear again in solemn tones 

The Lenten call to prayer; 
Bidding us turn from pleasure's round, 

A higher joy to find 
In fellowship with Him whose death 

Gave life to all mankind. 

Thus do the years go on, 

And times and seasons glide, 
Till soon the story of our life 

Is closed and laid aside. 
Ah! Life's a mystic page! 

In vain we strive to scan 
The hidden thought between the lines — 

God's purposes to man. 

95 



NIGHT. 

Thank God for night! I say, 
As weary with the toils of day 

And turmoils of the light, 
I draw the curtains of my bed, 
And pillowing my aching head, 

Thank God for night. 

Night! Time of rest so rare, 

From earth's perplexing thought and care. 

Respite from sound and sight; 
As deepening shadows softly fall, 
A holy silence broods o'er all, 

And it is night. 

The strife of tongues, the city's din, 
The sight of toiling, tired men, 

Go with the glaring light; 
And quiet comes mid softer gleams, 
Wooing the soul to peaceful dreams — 

Thank God for night! 

So when Life's cares are past, 

And Death's deep shade is on us cast, 

May we in calm delight 
Look up with cheerful faith and say, 
"Farewell to Earth's long, dreary day, 

Thank God for night!" 



TRUE WORSHIP. 
A Bummer Reverie. 

Not in cathedral dim nor temple grand, 

Where gay-robed throngs with seeming rev'rence meet, 

And studied eloquence in silver tones 

Proclaims the truth that Christ so simply spake, 

Is truest worship found; for here, alas! 

Is outward show and circumstance, and thought 

Of man, and the poor heart, diverted, seeks 



Some other shrine, and bows too oft to gods 
Of earthly mould. The words of Gospel grace 
Fall on the ear like echoes from afar, 
Which give no certain sound, hut idly die. 

God is a Spirit, and His worshipers 
Must in the spirit bend and give Him all 
Their thought — rising aloft on wings of prayer 
Till Earth with its vain show of human pride 
Seems but a speck of glittering dust below. 
Let him who thus would worship seek alone 
The forest shade where living arches ring 
With purest song, and every sight and sound 
Whispers of God. Or mid the "templed hills" 
Go forth when Summer crowns them all 
With touches visible of the dear Hand 
You fain would clasp. Or on a cloudless night 
Gaze upward to the star-gemmed depths of blue, 
And think how worlds on worlds are piled, and each 
Its order keeps, until the mind, absorbed, 
Forgets itself, outborne and overborne 
Upon Infinity, whose name is God. 

Oh! it is when the longing soul lies close 
To Nature, heart to heart, throwing aside 
Enwrapping care and toil, as tired child 
Its cumb'ring robes at night, feeling the throb 
Of fair Creation's pulse, so full of life 
From the eternal Fount, and listening catch 
Her praiseful intonations, sweeter far 
Than organ's swell or voice of cultured choir, 
It worships best. Then self is out of sight, 
And sense in holy adoration lost, 
The spirit, only, lives and moves and loves 
In the most loving, ever living One! 
God in His handiwork is near — so near 1 
You feel His Presence, almost think you hear 
His footfall close beside you, and His voice, 
So grand, yet tender, saying, "Child, be still 
And rest, for rest is worshipful, and trust 
Is praise!" 

97 



Ah! this is most like Heaven — most like 
Angelic worship! One such silent hour 
Of soul-communion mid the groves and hills 
Is worth a thousand spent in utterance vain 
Of wordy praise with crowds in stately courts, 
Where famished souls too often inly sigh 
And seek for God, yet empty turn away. 



98 



OCCASIONAL 



A HYMN OF PRAISE. 

Written for the Centennial of the First Presbyterian 
Church of Morristown, N. J., Oct. 14, 1891. 

[To be read, rather than sung.] 

God of the ages! Thou whose thought 

The universe from chaos brought, 
To whose supreme, unbounded view 
There's nothing old, there's nothing new; 
We, creatures of a day, would raise 
Our humble tribute to Thy praise. 

"We praise Thee for the wondrous grace 

That gives to man the highest place — 
As "sons of God" on earth to be, 
Joined in a glorious family; 
Above, below, Thy church is one, 
In fellowship with Christ the Son. 

For special providential care — 
A Century of blessings rare — 
To this vine of Thy planting willed; 
A bow of promises fulfilled, 

Spanning from past to present days, 
God of our fathers! Thee we praise! 

We thank Thee for the patriot sires 

Who through a Revolution's fires 
Stood firm on Truth and Freedom's side, 
And ere war's smouldering embers died, 
With self-denying zeal and thought, 
This goodly temple planned and wrought. 

Thanks that its sturdy frame's withstood 

A Century of storm and flood; 
And year by year the patient bell 
Has pealed its Sabbath message well. 
God grant that church and bell may still 
Their sacred mission long fulfill! 



Thanks for the saintly men of yore, 

Who meekly the church burdens bore; 
Whose voices oft have thrilled this air 
In tuneful song and fervent prayer. 
In courts above we see them bend, 
Their purer praise with ours to blend. 

Thanks for the saintly women, too, 

Who graced as well each ancient pew; 
In work and worship glad to share, 
Joining in song, if not in prayer. 
The mothers of the past! whose lives 
In children's children still survive. 

We thank Thee, here no doubtful word 

Of faith or doctrine ere was heard; 
This pulpit has from first to last 
To God's inspired word held fast; 
Loyal to church and creed, unmoved 
By critic's strife o'er faults unproved. 

We thank Thee, Lord, for showers of grace 

That have so often filled this place, 
When by the Spirit's power led 
Souls have by scores to Jesus fled, 
And at His table Him confessed, 
Ent'ring with joy, His service blest. 

We thank Thee for the record bright 
That this has been no hidden light; 
But far and near its saving glow, 

Has helped the nations Christ to know; 
One with their Head, this people's care, 
His cross to lift, His cause to share. 

For covenant blessings manifold, 

For precious memories yet untold, 
For peace on earth and hope of heaven, 
That through the years Thy love has given 
To generations past and now, — 
With praise before Thy throne we bow. 

102 



Let all who in this Zion dwell, 

In grateful strains the chorus swell; 
Young men and maidens, fair and strong, 
Old men and children join the song. 
In this Centennial praise unite, 
To God, our God, of love and might. 



L'ENVOI. 

A Farewell to a dear young friend about to sail for 
India, as a Missionary. 

Forth from the sheltering cote the carrier dove — 
Guided by wondrous inner light — 
To lands afar wings its brave flight, 

Bearing its messages of peace and love. 

So from the dear home nest where fondest love 
Hath nurtured well to strength of wing — 
Moved by an inward whispering — 

Full fledged now speeds away our gentle dove. 

The King's command not all in vain is* heard — 
"Go teach all nations in My name, 
My matchless grace to man, proclaim" — 

With quick response her willing soul is stirred. 

And far away to "India's coral strand," 
Where hungry millions watch and wait 
The Bread of Life which comes so late, 

She hastes to bear Christ's message to that land. 

With but one longing, lingering look behind 
On what is left — her loved, her own — 
To work untried, to fields unknown, 

She takes her flight, joy in a cross to find. 

And we — regretful — while our hearts still swell 
With grateful joy that one so dear 
Has heard the Master's voice so clear, 

And yielded sweet assent, must say Farewell! 

103 



Yet we shall go with her, our prayers shall be 

A loving presence all the way, 

A glow by night, a shade by day, 
For sure defence and guide o'er land and sea. 

God bless our carrier dove so true and brave! 

May Angel wings sustain her flight. 

Ruler of all! by Thine own might 
Hold back the stormy wind, calm the rough wave., 

That only prospering breeze and gentle swell 
May safely speed o'er ocean's crest, 
To the far shore — the new home-nest — 

Earth, air and sea, O guard our treasure well! 

And when before her chosen work at length 

She stands o'erwhelmed with fear 

Of failure, Lord, be ever near; 
Let "I am with thee alway," be her strength. 

Give nerve and courage tasks to undertake, 

And untold misery to face — ■ 

Faith to present God's equal grace 
For every need — and all for Christ's dear sake. 

And grant, Lord! the promised "hundredfold' 

Of joy and blessing in this life 

To her and her's, as mid the strife 
Of good with ill Thy Cross they shall uphold. 

Then when the way grows weary, and above 
All toil is heard the call to rest, 
Safe to the shelter of her 1 early nest, 

To waiting hearts bring back our carrier dove. 

"MIZPAH." 

At sea. 

The farewell word at last is spoken; 
Dear home-links one by one are broken; 
The best loved shore from sight is fading 
With dimness tearful faces shading. 

104 



Over the hounding wave we go 
Out of the reach of ice and snow; 
Yet never warmer hearts to find 
Than those so sadly left behind; 
They on the land, I on the sea, 
"Watch, Lord, between them all and me. 

Kindred and friends! to you still clinging, 
Backward my soul its flight is winging; 
Ah! can these rolling billows sever 
Hearts linked in Love's bright circlet? Neve; 
Though far away awhile to dwell, 
Oft shall I speed to scenes loved well. 
Many a saddening change may come, 
Ere I shall hear the "Welcome home"; 
But I can only trust in Thee, 
Watch, Lord, between my friends and me. 

The church we love, Lord, I commend it 
To Thy rich grace; from ill defend it; 
And the dear flock, our Sabbath treasure, 
Care for them all in Thy good pleasure. 
Keep the little ones in the fold, 
Shelter them safe from want and cold; 
Let them from week to week be fed 
With crumbs of everlasting bread. 
While I am absent on land or sea, 
Watch, Lord, between my class and me. 



OUR MANSE. 

It stands in finished beauty; broad and firm 

Are its foundations, strong its stately walls — 

As fitted to endure through coming years 

A monument of Christian faith and zeal. 

Within, the tinted light falls cheerily 

O'er graceful arch and polished floor, and through 

The well appointed rooms like rainbow hues 

105 



Of promise, betokening peace and joy — 
A fitting home of rest for him who serves 
This ancient church of God. 

But ah! to us 
Who hopefully have watched its rise and end, 
Above it rests a cloud — bright edged, 'tis true, — 
For all God's hidden ways are just and kind — 
But dark with disappointment and surcharged 
With bitter grief. The gentle presence which 
We fondly hoped would grace the finished home 
Is missing there — the heart of home is gone — 
Gone to a better dwelling, this we know, 
A mansion far more fair; 'tis not for her 
We mourn, 'tis for ourselves alone. And now 
The shadow deepens as again the wing 
Of the death-angel broods this time above 
The cradle of the home — the household shrine 
Where stricken hearts find hope and comfort sweet 
In loving homage. Soon the baby-tones 
Are hushed — the shrine is broken and fond arms 
Are empty as the happy little soul 
Leaps to the new-found mother's clinging clasp, 
And the sweet waxen form is laid to sleep 
Among the summer flowers. 

Once more alone 
The smitten one gives meekly back to God 
The precious legacy of love and cheer, 
And mutely bows beneath the added stroke. 
Oh mystery supreme! We vainly ask 
What does it mean? Then make reply "God knows.' 

Thus has our beauteous Manse been sanctified. 
'Twill ever be a consecrated place, 
Hallowed by tender memories, baptized 
In sacred tears, and linked in holiest thought 
With Heaven and white-robed angel-hood above. 



106 



AFTER A SABBATH-SCHOOL CONVEN- 
TION. 

Echoes float around us, 

Waves of mingled sound; 
Holy deep vibrations 

In our hearts abound 
Strains of earnest music, 

Words of Christian cheer, 
Thoughts that nerve to action 

Linger in our ear. 

Thanks to the "sweet Singer," 

For his feast of song — 
Pure harmonic gospel, 

Truth to treasure long — 
Still the stirring carol 

Trembles on the air, 
"If you want a mission 

Find it anywhere." 

And we sit and listen, 

Dreading lest the spell 
Shall be rudely broken 

By stern Duty's bell 
Calling us, reluctant, 

From the mount away 
To lowly paths of labor, 

To toil and watch and pray. 

Not in vain we listen 

The repeating strain; 
Faith and Hope grow brighter, 

Taking heart again, 
We will lift our burden 

With a stronger hand, 
Looking unto Jesus, 

Following His command. 

107 



Oh, the joy of living 

In this world of sin 
With so high a mission 

Precious souls to win! 
With a full salvation 

Meeting every need, 
And such a loving Master, 

Oh 'tis joy indeed! 

What a blissful union 

Kindred spirits know, 
As in sweet communion 

Thought and feeling flow; 
One in Jesus ever, 

One in doing good, 
In faith and deed forever 

A Christian brotherhood! 



ANNIVERSARY HYMN FOR AN ORPHAN 

ASYLUM. 

Once more old Time with swift and steady flight 
Has brought around our Anniversary night; 
In health and happiness again we meet, 
And all our friends and patrons gladly greet. 

Thanks to "Our Father" in our hearts abound — 
For countless blessings the past year have crowned — 
He who the sparrow feeds has ne'er forgot 
The lonely orphan in his hapless lot. 

No more in want or 1 weariness we roam; 
Through His rich bounty we have found a home. 
From Summer's sultry heat and Winter's cold 
We're safely sheltered in our pleasant fold. 

The harvest's past, the reaper's work is done, 
The flowers are withered and the birds are gone; 
Still Spring is ours, e'en mid the tempest's strife, 
For sympathy is sunshine, love is life. 

108 



We come to-night to tell you if we may 
What we have learned since our last festive day: 
No tones of eloquence, we strive to reach, 
But simple strains of music and of speech. 

We ask you then to lend a listening ear 
And overlook all faults that may appear. 
May Heaven's benediction on us fall — 
God bless our orphan-band, and bless you all. 



ANNIVERSARY HYMN FOR A SABBATH 
SCHOOL. 

Spared once more to meet together 1 

On this annual festive day, 
Let us come with hearts of gladness 

And a thankful lay. 

While the earth is crowned with beauty, — 
Treading on bright Autumn leaves, — 

We will haste from vale and hillside, 
Bringing in our sheaves. 

Through the year that's past we've labored 

For the needy as we could; 
And have learned we're ne'er so happy 

As when doing good. 

Thankfully we bring our offering 
Treasured from our humble store, 

Gladly send it on its mission, 
Wishing it were more. 

Mindful of the greater blessing 

Our dear Saviour's love has given — 

Teachers and the blessed Bible 
Pointing us to Heaven. 

109 



CHILDREN'S HYMNS. 

Written for the Rev. E. P. H. during a season of 
religious interest, — the same which suggested the hymn, 
"Jesus of Nazareth." 

INVITATION. 

Oh happy day, blest day of grace! 
When Jesus shows His smiling face, 
And bids the weary wanderer come 
And find in Him sweet rest, a home. 
The Cross, uplifted, draws us near, 
The Spirit whispers words of cheer, 
And waits repenting souls to bless 
In this glad day, this day of grace! 

Then hasten all who feel your need, 
From sin's dread burden to be freed; 
To Calvary's Victim look and live, 
He only can salvation give. 
Long have you pleasure sought in vain, 
And found but weariness and pain; 
Oh come, your sinful steps retrace, 
Improve this blessed day of grace. 

Now listen to the Gospel's sound, 
Seek Jesus while He may be found; 
In Him the Father, reconciled, 
Will own and bless you as His child. 
Oh, will you longer slight His love, 
And grieve away the Heavenly Dove? 
Refuse the Saviour to embrace, 
And perish in this day of grace? 

Forbid it Lord! Thy power display 
And draw these lingering souls to-day; 
Convince of sin, Thy grace impart 
To cleanse and sanctify che heart. 
May many hear Thy gracious voice, 
And in Thy pardoning love rejoice, 
Who in eternity shall praise 
Thee for this blessed day of grace. 

110 



PRAISE AND CONSECRATION. 

Come ye children, sweetly sing 
Praises to your Saviour King. 
Hearts and voices gladly bring 
To praise His name. 

Jesus is the children's Friend, 
Loving, faithful to the end. 
Richest gifts from Him descend — 
Joy and peace. 

Once from Heaven to earth He came, 
Suffered pain, contempt and blame, 
Died upon a Cross of shame 
Crowned with thorns. 

'Twas our sinful souls to save, 
Thus His precious life He gave; 
Ransomed now from sin's dark grave, 
We may sing. 

Blessed Jesus, loving, kind, 
Thee we'd early seek and find, 
And our souls in cov'nant bind 
Thine to be. 

For our sins we deeply grieve, 
But Thy promise we believe — 
"Him that cometh I receive," 
Lord we come. 



REJOICING IN JESUS. 

I have found a precious Saviour, 
He has washed my sins away; 

Now rejoicing in His favor, 
1 am happy all the day. 

Sweetest joy my heart is swelling- 
Joy the world can never give — 

While in simple strains I'm telling 
How He made my spirit live. 

Ill 



Lost in sin I wandered weary, 
Far from Jesus, far from Home, 

Till He came In love to cheer me, 
Gently calling "Wanderer, come." 

Pardon full and free He offered, 

Showed His bleeding hands and side; 

Told me how for me He suffered, 
For my sin was crucified. 

Then my heart with thanks o'erfiowing 
Yielded to His gracious call — 

At His feet in sorrow bowing, 
Gave to Him my life, my all. 

Now I'm His, yes His forever! 

Safe within His peaceful Fold. 
Jesus' lambs can perish never, 

Love like His can ne'er grow cold. 



WORKING FOR JESUS. 
Tune — "Speaking for Jesus:' (I want to oe an Angel.) 

We all must work for Jesus, 

Who died our souls to save, 
Who by His blood redeems us 

From sin's eternal grave. 
Bought with a price so precious, 

A debt we ne'er can pay, 
Shall we with buried talents, 

Stand idle all the day? 

No, we must work for Jesus, 

With thankful, loving hearts; 
Though hard the toil, He aids us, 

And needful grace imparts. 
His cause is ours, and gives us 

A work for every one; 
The oldest and the youngest 

May help its glory on. 

112 



We all must work for JesuS, 

Oh! list His earnest call, 
"Go forth into My vineyard 

And labor one and all. 
The field is wide, the harvest 

White with the ripening grain, 
But waits the faithful reaper, 

Who shall not toil in vain." 

Then let us work for Jesus, 

Nor think of resting here, 
Though ofttimes weak and weary, 

Toil on, with faith and prayer. 
Work for the poor and friendless, 

The sad, the erring one, 
And at the last with joy we'll hear 

Our Saviour say, "Well done!" 



"FIX WATCH FOR YOU ALL." 

(The dying words of a little CJiristian boy.) 

"Don't grieve for me, dear mother, 
Let not a tear fall, 
Dear father, sister, brother, 
I'll watch for you all. 

"To a better home I'm hasting; 

There at the pearly gate, 
Mid pleasures everlasting, 

Most lovingly I'll wait, 
Till through the open portal 

You one by one shall come, 
To share in joys immortal 

In our eternal Home. 

"I'm not afraid, dear mother, 
To tread the valley dim; 
Jesus, my elder brother, 
Will keep me close to Him. 

113 



I've sought His grace and favor, 
He heard my early vow, 

And I am sure my Saviour 
Will not desert me now. 

'I see the angels coming! 

They're coming now for me — 
I hear their voices humming 

Sweet strains of melody. 
Farewell! they're coming nearer — 

Yes take me, take me home. 
Dear loved ones, never dearer, 

Farewell — Jesus, I come! 

'Don't grieve for me, dear mother, 

Let not a tear fall, 
Dear father, sister, brother, 

I'll watch for you all." 



THE INVALID'S COMFORT. 
(Dedicated to Chloe Lankton.) 

How wondrous, Lord, how deep, how high 

Must he Thy love to me! 
Since whom Thou lovest best is sure 

Most chast'ning here to see. 

From youth to age my life has been 

A painful mystery: 
The joys that others hold so dear 

Thou hast denied to me. 

From morn till night, from night to morn, 

Helpless, alone I lie; 
In hopeless suff'ring count the hours, 

And see the years go by. 

One after one, my heart's best friends 

Have vanished from my sight, 
Until Thy presence only, Lord, 

Is left to make earth bright. 

114 



My mortal vision cannot read 

This lifelong mystery; 
But when Heaven's sunlight dawns I shall 

Its hidden meaning see. 

Doubtless Thou art my Father, though 

To all the world unknown; 
Thine ear attends my softest sigh, 

And hears my faintest moan. 

In the night watches oft I wake 

While all around me sleep; 
Then oh, how sweet to know Thine eye 

A loving guard doth keep. 

Thou art my Father! precious thought! 

My Saviour, Helper, Friend! 
And having loved Thine own thus far, 

Wilt love me to the end. 

The end! oh why so long delayed — 

The end of pain and strife? 
When will Thine angels come, dear Lord, 

To bring me unto life? 

These weary, waiting days of pain 

Can scarce existence give; 
But when immortal strength is mine, 

I shall begin to live. 

blissful hour! when loosed these bonds 
Of long infirmity, 

1 shall in Christ's own likeness walk 
To all eternity! 



115 



MISCELLANEOUS 



CHRISTMAS IN THE ARCTIC REGIONS. 
"Kane's Arctic Explorations." Vol. 1, p. ^Ifi. 

Twas Christmas morn, but no sun's ray- 
Dawned with its gladsome light; 

For while in Summer lands 'twas day, 
Here it was dismal night — 

A night whose banner long unfurled 

Wrapped in its sombre folds this Arctic world. 

The stars their gentle radiance gave, 

The moon its pallid beams, 
To sparkle o'er the frosted wave 

With cheering silver gleams; 
While Alps on Alps of crystal cliffs, 
Like jeweled sentinels, their heads uplift. 

The scene was fairy-like and grand — 

But ah! too strangely still; 
Too cold to lure the mystic band 

From flowery vale and hill. 
For here the Ice King holds his sway, 
And spirits weird his tyrant will obey. 

A worn, dismantled vessel lay 

Upon the frozen strand — 
The drear abode by night and day 

Of a heroic band 
Self-exiled from their homes to save 
A long-lost wanderer from an icy grave. 

No holly branch, no ivy wreath 

Adorns their dreary cell, 
No ruddy fires with kindly breath 

Of homelike comforts tell; 
No joyous "Merry Christmas" chime 
Recalls the well-remembered olden time. 

119 



No dainty viands grace their board, 

No happy voices greet; 
With joy to share their scanty hoard 

No circling loved ones meet — 
Mid stillness, solitude and dearth 
They hail the day that brought good news to earth. 

But oh! the power of human will 

To conquer human care — 
The mind immortal rises still 

Buoyant amid despair — 
Nor cold, nor want, nor darkness drear 
Can make these dauntless spirits yield to fear. 

In merriment and pleasant jest 

They pass the festal day; 
While tender thoughts filled every breast 

Of home scenes far away; 
Where loving hearts their absence mourn, 
And prayers for their return are heavenward borne. 

We welcome back from Polar snows 

These brave, heroic men, 
To friendship sweet, to Christian joys 

And social life again. 
Now gathered in home circles dear 
May they enjoy the "Merry Christmas" cheer. 

Give to the Hero of the North 

A niche in Glory's fane; 
Let poets celebrate the worth 

Of our own noble Kane! 
And history record his name 
Crowned with undying wreaths of Fame. 



120 



"LOST CHILD." 

"Lost! lost! lost!" 

List to the bellman's chime; 
As it thrills on the ear with a startling sound, 

Just at the evening time. 

"A little fair-haired child, 

And only four years old," 
Has wandered afar in its childish glee, 

Away from the parent fold. 

Who can the anguish tell, 

The mingled hope and fear, 
As the mother waits in the desolate home 

Her darling's voice to hear? 

Sad, sad, sad, 

The sound of the hellman's chime, 
As it rings through the husy, crowded street 

Just at the evening time. 

But sadder, sadder still 

The cry of deeper woe 
Which comes from so many childish hearts 

That no earthly comfort know. 

'Tis heard in the crowded street, 

Mid the city's strife and din, 
Where little ones wander with weary feet, 

Lost in the ways of sin; 

Lost to the voice of love, 

To virtue's lessons dear; 
Lost to the hope of a home above, 

Shadowed by want and fear. 

Joy! joy! joy! 

That some of the lost are found 
And gathered in homes where love's sweet spell 
Their hapless lives surround. 
But oh, for the many more 
Who stumble in darkness still, 

121 



Whose "daily bread" is the pitiful crust 

Of charity's fitful will. 

Jesus, whose pitying eyes 

These wandering lamhs behold, 
Oh gather them all in their childhood's day 

Into Thine own sweet fold. 



TO THE KATYDID. 

Where are you, little Katydid? 

I hear your funny song: 
So safe among the bushes hid, 

Do you sing all night long? 

I wonder if you're never tired 

Of chirping nothing new. 
If I were you, I'd try for once 

To change a note or two. 

They say you are a prophet-bird; 

Your voice must not be lost, 
Since your first note foretells the fact, 

In six weeks we'll have frost. 

But, Katy, it does seem to me 

You rather loudly sing; 
You surely make too great a noise 

For such a little thing: 

For don't you know big people say, 
And we must mind their word, 

That young folks should, like you and me, 
Be seen, not often heard? 

Now "Katy did," then "Katy didn't"— 

'Tis very sad to see 
That children of one family 

Will sometimes disagree. 

122 



Don't quarrel, Katy; try to sing 

A little gentler song, 
For mother tells me, Katy, dear, 

To contradict is wrong. 

But then I don't suppose you mean 

To be unkind a bit; 
I know you're never rude or cross, 

It only sounds like it. 

God made you, Katy, thus to sing, 
He knows the reason why; 

The little while He lets you live, 
You work, then humbly die. 

So ought 1 to fulfill my part, 

What I am made to do; 
Through all the life God gives me, be 

An earnest worker too. 



"FORT SUMTER." 

Ring loud the merry bells, let pealing cannon 
Sound o'er Columbia's land from sea to sea! 

Fling out the Stars and Stripes, our glorious banner, 
With a united shout of victory! 

Sumter is ours! our flag again is waving 
„ In triumph o'er its battered battlements, 
The very flag which traitors, madly scorning, 
Sought to deface with treason's shameful rents. 

Through years of direful strife and bitter mourning, 
Since Sumter's hero pined within its gate, 

The nation's heart has throbbed with restless yearning, 
Insulted honor here to vindicate. 

To-day, as patriot hearts are met recalling, 
With grateful memories, our country's sire, 

The joyful news from East to West is flashing, 
The nation's faith and courage to inspire. 

123 



With Sumter's fall, we trust we see the dawning 
Of brighter skies o'er our beclouded land — 

When States cemented, brotherhood reclaiming, 
In Peace and Freedom shall united stand. 

Then let the shout of victory ascending 
Shake the wide vault of heaven with its might! 

While with our joy, deep notes of praise are blending 
To Him who nerved the heart and led the fight. 

Praise to our fathers' God — the Just and Righteous! 

Whose arm omnipotent has been our stay 
Through conflicts stern, amid doubt's dreary shadows, 

Praise undivided be to Him alway! 

February 22, 1865. 



EULOGY ON A TURKEY. 

Slain for the Soldiers' Thanksgiving Dinner, 
November 24, I864. 

High honor rests upon thy senseless head, 

Thou poor unfeathered fowl! 
No common cause has laid thee with the dead 

And hushed thy dismal howl. 

Slain for thy country! Classic page has said 

'Tis pleasant thus to die. 
Few of thy kind have e'er so nobly bled 

For Truth and Liberty! 

Couldst thou have understood the mighty cause 

That brought thee to thy death, 
Meekly wouldst thou have crossed thy struggling claws 

And yielded up thy breath. 

Thy well-fed form, fresh from the corn-stocked farm 

Shall yield meat rich and tender 
To feed the wasted strength and nerve the arm 

Of some brave home-defender. 

124 



Our Soldier boys! long have they nobly fought 

That Right might be the winner. 
And well do they deserve, with loving thought, 

A good Thanksgiving dinner. 

Our Nation's hope and pride, God bless them all! 

In Hospital or trenches. 
Give them that courage true, whate'er befall, 

Nor pain nor danger quenches. 

Yes, senseless brute, a glorious death is thine! 

A nobler destiny 
Than many a man's who claims a soul divine, 

Yet dies in infamy. 

Let traitor-cowards meanly "bite the dust," — 

Scorning fair Glory's charter — 
But let me nobly fall, if fall 1 must, 

Like thee a blessed martyr! 



TO THE WILD CARROT. 
(Queen Anne's Lace.) 

They call you only a worthless weed, 
And grudge you a place to grow — 

They plough up the meadow with cruel greed, 
And ruthlessly lay you low. 

Such beauty as yours is far too rare 

For common eyes to see; 
For search through the gardens everywhere, 

Your equal can scarcely be. 

Tis only the souls with cultured sight 

That own your delicate grace, 
And freely accord your royal right 

To the name "Queen Anne's Lace." 

So in many a lowly human flower 

God's hidden graces wait 
The touch of Love to reveal its dower 

And lift to its kingly state. 

125 



"DON'T WORRY !" 
Written for a "Don't Worry'' Club. 

A new Philosophy of late 
Is stirring thought and wide debate; 
With what result, we wait to see. 
This is the wise philosophy — 
Whatever comes from morn till night 
Of disappointment, pain or fright, 
"Don't Worry." 

What if your best laid schemes go wrong- 
The end you've striven for so long 
Eludes your grasp — the hope so bright 
Sinks into deepest, darkest night — 
Or pain and weakness rack your frame 
Till Life's a sigh — yet all the same 
"Don't Worry." 

Women by household cares perplexed, 
By daily failures, daily vexed — 
The dinner's spoiled — the cook don't care- 
The children fret, and guests are there. 
Unfinished tasks pile mountain high 
Till courage fails, despair is nigh — 
"Don't Worry." 

And, brother man, when stocks go down 
Or rise and you are not in town — 
A moment late — the train is lost, 
Which may for you some thousands cost; 
Or sudden flame or flood destroy 
The gain of years, your manhood's joy, 
"Don't Worry." 

"What can't be cured must be endured" — 
By trial man becomes inured — 
This Life's a battle, at the best; 
We stand or fall, fight on or rest. 
A cycle hence 'twill matter not 
If gain or loss is here our lot, 
"Don't Worry." 

126 



Ah! 'tis an easy thing to preach — 
But human nature's hard to teach. 
The sting is there beneath the smile, 
And aching hearts will groan erewhile. 
Ah! stolid must that being be 
"Who through a mere philosophy, 
"Don't Worry." 

Not reason, but a simple trust 
In the All-Father, loving, just; — 
Who for His children cares, and knows 
Their need, so good or ill bestows, — 
Will lift the soul to heights serene, 
Where Faith can calmly view the scene 
Of earthly wrecks — while in the ear 
A voice divine is whispering clear 
"Don't Worry." 



FOR A MAY DAY CELEBRATION. 

Opening Piece. 

Dear friends, we gather here to-day 

To crown with blossoms rarest 
One we have chosen Queen of May — 

Our gentlest and our fairest. 

No grand cathedral's mystic walls 

Cast shadows dim before us; 
Our Minster is fair Nature's halls, 

With Heaven's blue arches o'er us. 

No glittering diadem is ours 

Our youthful Queen to offer, 
Only a chaplet of fresh flowers 

Woven by hearts that love her. 

Our sceptre is no jeweled staff — 

Symbol of kingly power — 
Plucked from the wood where sunbeams laugh, 

'Tis gemmed with many a flower. 

127 



Emblem of her whose gentle sway 
Knows only love's emotion — 

Then come and crown our Queen of May, 
And yield your heart's devotion. 



"THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR." 

[At the conquest of Granada by Ferdinand and Isa- 
bella in 1492, the Moorish prince Abdallah was banished 
from the kingdom, and with the royal family passed 
out of the city as the conquerors were taking possession 
of it. Reaching a rocky eminence he paused and cast a 
backward glance over the land of his pride and glory, 
when his grief overcame his courage and he burst into 
tears. The scene of this event is still pointed out to 
the tourist by the people of the district, and the rocky 
height from which the conquered chief took his sad 
farewell of the princely abodes of his ancestors is com- 
memorated by the poetical name of "El Ultimo Sospiro 
del Moro." — Prescott's History of Ferdinand and Isabella, 
Vol. II., p. 99.] 

'Twas the hour of sunset and Day's parting ray 
Lingered faintly but fondly o'er mountain and bay; 
The clouds gathered darkly in Heaven's blue dome, 
And shadows fell fast on the Saracen's home. 
The star of Mahomet which so proudly had shone 
In radiant glory, undimmed and alone, 
Was setting in darkness no more to arise 
On the land of Granada to gladden her skies. 

The Christian in triumph his standard unfurled, 
And with shouts of delight from each minaret hurled 
The Moslem's loved crescent to glisten no more 
In the sunlight of Spain as for ages before. 
The silver cross gleams from Alhambra's high tower, 
The grateful "Te Deum" is chanted with power; 
The victors rejoice in their coveted prize, 
And glad Alleluias ascend to the skies, 

128 



And now from the city a sorrowful band 

Of exiles go forth from their dearly loved land; 

And silently seek for some desolate spot 

Where unseen they may weep o'er their unhappy lot. 

They pause at the top of a far rocky height 

And turn with hearts bursting to take a last sight 

Of Granada's fair palace, their ancestor's" throne, 

Her temples and mosques, now no longer their own. 

Overcome with sad thoughts the proud Chieftain is 

bowed, 
And weeping, gives vent to his sorrow aloud; 
"O beautiful city! in glory renowned, 
For centuries past with magnificence crowned! 
O how art thou fallen! Thy sons all in vain 
Have striven to save thee — our fathers' domain — 
But the Christian has conquered — 'twas Allah's decree — 
We bow to his will, while we sorrow for thee. 

"No more through thy halls shall resound the glad song. 

No more shall thy streets to our children belong; 

No more the Muezzin shall call us to prayer, 

But music, unsanctified, ever be there. 

E'en now in the twilight we see the vile cross 

Rise proudly in triumph to mock at our loss; 

And borne on the breeze the faint chime of the bells 

To the listening ear of our misery tells. 

"0 son of Mahomet! have woes like to thine 
E'er fallen on mortals from destiny's shrine? 
Oh dark is the future, poor exiles we roam, 
And the fate of the captive may yet be our doom. 
Farewell loved Granada! no more the brave Moor 
In the mosque of his fathers shall Allah adore. 
But where'er he may wander thy name shall be dear 
And sacredly cherished till Death shall appear. 

"Oh fondly we hoped when life's struggle was past — 
Its conflicts and victories won to the last — 
That thy hallowed soil, where we first drew our breath, 
Might cover our ashes when silent in death. 

129 



But alas! the vain hope now in darkness expires; 
Far, far from this spot, from the graves of our sires, 
From the home of our childhood and all we love hest, 
Broken-hearted and weary we'll lie down to rest." 

The shadows of evening were deepening apace, 
And silence reigned over that desolate place. 
The stars one by one from their ocean of blue 
In sympathy twinkled their parting adieu. 
While faintly was heard the Chieftain's low tone, 
The pitying wind answering back with a moan; 
The hill-tops around caught the sound to endure 
And echo for aye, the last Sigh of the Moor. 



130 



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